


who knows how long i've loved you (you know i love you still)

by lovelyflowersinherhair



Series: a love so warm and beautiful (stands when time itself is falling) [1]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 90,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21543277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyflowersinherhair/pseuds/lovelyflowersinherhair
Summary: The year is 1968.The Beatles are recording their latest album, and tensions in the group have reached new heights.It's in this background that Paul McCartney has fallen in love.
Relationships: John Lennon/Yoko Ono, Linda McCartney/Paul McCartney, Maureen Cox Starkey/Ringo Starr, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Pattie Boyd/George Harrison
Series: a love so warm and beautiful (stands when time itself is falling) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713067
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, thank you for reading this story. Please note that artistic license is allowing me to deviate from historical fact, though I am doing my best to stay as accurate as possible. This story takes place in the 1960s and contains language that is historically accurate for the time and location. I do not claim ownership of the real live people who feature in my story.

_1968_

“Hey, Paulie?” John asked, keeping his tone purposely neutral as he addressed his fellow bandmember. Paul had been pretending to tune his instrument for several minutes, and John had gotten the sense it was because he wanted to ignore him. “Paul? Macca?”

“What is it, John?” 

“How much is that American bird of yours payin’ you to watch her daughter?” George and Richie had been talking amongst themselves, but John noticed that his question had brought silence to the room. Paul glanced up from his bass, his eyes narrowed in a squint. 

“I beg your pardon?” Paul’s tone could have cut ice. John heard a warning behind it. He elected to ignore the warning he’d heard. “Would you care to repeat that?” 

“You know,” he continued. “Linda. That American bird you’ve gone out and replaced Jane with. You brought that girl of hers to our rehearsal the other day. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?”

“I know who you’re talking about, John,” Paul informed him. “I was giving you an opportunity to think about what you just asked me before I dignified it with a response.”

“It’s a fair question,” John insisted. “I want to know what the going rate is for a Macca’s childminder’s special. Does she give you a quid? A tenner?” 

Paul placed his bass on its stand, and stood up, taking a visible breath as he did. He briefly wondered if he had crossed a line. Paul had been so tetchy lately. Since roughly about the time he’d ended things with Jane and taken up with Linda. It was almost as if he’d been told that he was being trodden on, or something. Nonetheless, John elected to persevere. 

“I spend time with Heather because I love her,” Paul said in a low tone. “Linda isn’t giving me a bloody quid or a damn tenner to spend time with her. Being with Linda means that her daughter is also a part of my life, John. She’s a child, not the latest accessory that I can just toss in a pile with the ones I’ve rejected when I grow bored.”  
  
  


“I was only asking a—”

“A question? I know. Let me guess why you were asking,” Paul interrupted him. “Cyn has had the absolute gall to expect you to hold up your end of the custody agreement for Julian. The custody agreement that you insisted upon because you didn’t want to come off as absolutely bloody horrid in the eyes of the birds, the fans, the bloody public, and in the eyes of your aunt. The custody agreement you didn’t think she’d bother to hold you to.”  
  
  


“I—”

“And you thought you could bribe me into watching Jules so that you could sod off doing whatever in God’s name it is that you and that woman do whilst also appearing as if you are a decent father?”

“Appear as if?” 

“Don’t you dare pull that bollocks with me,” Paul said. “I’m not some Sun-reading pillock who will believe every bloody word that comes out of your mouth simply due to the fact that I’m speaking to John bleeding Lennon of the bloody damned Beatles! I’ve known you since I was fifteen years old, John. What in God’s name are you going to do with Julian if I don’t watch him?”

“I’ll leave him with Yoko, of course,” John said. “I have things to do, Paul. I can’t have him hanging off me expecting to run around and play all the bloody day.” 

Paul had crossed the room so that he was stood in front of him, and John heard him heave a heavy sigh. It was clear that he was wrestling with his conscience. Paul’s conscience told him ridiculous things that John thought were over the top, but, well, if his guilty conscience made it so that John wasn’t doing the heavy lifting of parenting? He was more than willing to be exploitative. 

“I’ll watch him,” he said. “I would certainly never forgive myself if something happened to poor Jules while under the care of that horrible woman, John, a fact which you bloody well know. Bring him round to mines and I will get him sorted.” 

“Brilliant,” he said, and he gave Paul a friendly slap on the back. “I’ll tell Cynthia to bring him there, then,” he said with a shrug. “Reckon it’s for the best that I’m not involved, anyroad.” 

“So, you think that not—” Paul stopped himself mid-sentence. “Why involve yourself at all? Maybe the invitation should just come straight from myself and Linda? That would eliminate poor Cyn from having to deal with either of you.”

George and Richie exchanged a glance. It was clear that they sensed the potential for there to be a row between himself and Paul, and there might have been, had John not thought Paul’s idea was a rather good one, since it meant that he wouldn’t have to speak to his ex-wife, or his son. The people whom he surrounded himself with seemed to think that he was ill-equipped to deal with either his ex-wife or his child, and Paul had banded together with George Martin the other day to give him a lecture on...well, John hadn’t been listening, really. The point was that if Paul thought he was behaving improperly towards them; he was more than willing to force the younger man to deal with them. It wasn’t his fault that Cynthia took offense to his comments about their marriage and about how their son had come to be, was it? He’d only told the truth.

He’d only married her because she’d been pregnant with Julian, and Julian was someone he viewed as a mistake. 

Yoko had said there was no harm in telling people the honest truth. 

“Throw a few quid her way,” he said, as he lit a cigarette, and brought it to his lips. “Reckon she could stand a few pounds, given that she’s been crying poor to our solicitors again.”

“She’s not ‘crying poor’, you bloody tosser. She bloody well _is_ poor, given that you up and left her for some bleeding Japanese tart, who just _encourages_ your terrible behaviour! Ever since you met Yoko, John, you’ve been on a gradual slide toward being an unrecognisable monster. You’ve never treated either of them particularly well, mate, but this is a new low. Shall I shove a _fiver_ into Cyn’s hand and say that I hope it gets her by?” 

“What did you just say?”

“I called her a bloody Jap tart,” Paul said, as John became uncomfortably aware of just how close Paul was to him. “Because that’s what she is. A bloody tart who’s only interested in having your royalty cheques fund her absolutely _barmy_ displays of _audacity_ that she’s decided are meant to be considered as works of art. You were bored with your wife and your son as usual and you let her ensnare you! What does she see in you, John? You’re her walking chequebook!”

Paul shook his head, and John watched him light up a smoke. “Every _day_ your behaviour is worse than ever before.”

“He’s not wrong, you know,” Richie said, and John glared at him. “You’ve changed, mate.” 

“That doesn’t give him the right to have a go at Yoko!” John thundered. “Where does he get off saying those things about her?”  
  
  


“I—”

“Me? You’re mad at me? What about all of the bloody horrid things you say about Heather and Linda? We get it, you miss Jane. She was pretty to look at and you enjoyed sleeping with her actress friends. So now you’ve got some vendetta against Linda for reasons that only make sense to you. And, that’s fine. But how dare you say such horrible things about my daughter?” 

“Daughter?” John scoffed. “Surely, you’re having me for a laugh, Paulie? You don’t actually think she’s your daughter. She’s the bird’s.”

“She might not be mine biologically,” he said, and he clenched his hands into fists. “But that doesn’t give you the right to say those things about her, and that doesn’t matter to me, or to her mother, or to Heather. She wants me to be her dad, and I am more than capable of that. She loves me, and I love her. She’s my daughter.” 

“Really? That’s not what I read in the Mirror,” he said. “Seems she’s got a dad, mate. A geologist bloke? Seems wrong to steal another man’s daughter.” 

Paul’s fist connected with John’s jaw, and he let out a yelp of surprise. “She’s my bloody kid, you wanker. That prick has nothing to do with her, he’s never even seen her. Bollocks the bloody Mirror.” Paul swung and hit him again. “Why can’t you bloody well keep your mouth shut?”   
  
  


What was good for the goose was good for the gander, and John saw fit to reply with his fist. 

“Boys!” George Martin could be heard in the background, not that John paid him any mind, as he swung wildly at Paul. “Boys!”

“You’re a bloody wanker!” Paul thundered. “I am so tired of you and your ability to—”  
  
  


“You’re the one who—”

“Enough!” George Martin had come down from the control booth at record speed, and John felt him grab onto his collar. “The two of you, break it up. This is a recording studio! Not some seedy barroom where the two of you can exchange blows!”

“I’m sorry,” Paul mumbled, though the apology was somewhat tempered by the fact that his blood was getting all over George Martin’s pullover jumper. “It won’t happen again, I let me anger get the best of me. I think I need a tissue.” 

The producer made a sound of disapproval, and John watched him press a handkerchief into Paul’s hand. “Yes, well, I would appreciate it if you and John could make it through a rehearsal without goading each other. Why do you let what he says get to you, Paul? You know he’s doing it to get a rise out of you.”

“I was only telling him the truth,” John groused. 

“I _heard_ you,” George Martin informed him. “You are aware that I can hear what goes on in this rehearsal room, John Winston Lennon, are you not? The two of you are behaving like absolute children, and why? Because the two of you don’t like each other’s girlfriends? And, honestly, John. You know perfectly well that that article in the Mirror was designed to sell papers, it was purposefully inflammatory. How would you feel if Paul started dredging up every headline that made you feel terrible?” 

“I don’t care what people think of me,” he said. “Yoko and I—”

“Bloody shut up!” George said. “You might not care but Richie and I are tired of the two of you finding new rows to get into if you breathe funny. And it’s not all Paul’s doing, either. You’re worse. If Paul wants to be in Heather’s life like that, who are you to stop him? You don’t bloody mind when he’s taking care of your son, now, do you?”

“I don’t have a bloody choice, now, do I? Cyn keeps whinging about how the bloody thing that I signed entitles me to time with him and her to use me as her bloody bank. Either Paul keeps him or I’m stuck doing it, and you’ve all made it clear that you don’t think I’m capable.”

“Now, John, surely you’re misunderstanding—”  
  
  


Richie shook his head. “He’s not wrong,” he said. “But you have to understand that we’re not expecting much more than the bare minimum from him, Henry. Mo tells me that children Julian’s age aren’t meant to be left alone at home to their own devices, even if they’re set up with the telly.”

“And Mo shouldn’t have found out—”

“Well you can’t blame him for telling people, John,” he said. “Imagine being six and having free access to an entire property? I’d be telling people too.”

“You left that boy in your house alone?” 

John rolled his eyes. “We were there. We just couldn’t be arsed to handle him.” 

“You see what I mean?” Paul asked, his voice muffled by the handkerchief that he was holding up to his bloody nose. “I’m tired of having to defend myself against things like that.” 

“Defend yourself against what?” John demanded. 

“You! You and your inability to recognise that your behaviour is utterly abysmal, both toward your son and toward Cyn, and toward the lot of us, as well. Did you know that he wants to invite Yoko round?” 

“You bring Heather here—”

“Sod off! Heather doesn’t ruin every space she’s in with her bleeding attitude!”

“Are you saying that Yoko does?” 

“Yes! I bloody well _am_ saying that,” Paul said. “I don’t know how to get this through your thick skull. I don’t like Yoko, and I won’t be recording if she’s in this studio.”

“You’re a damn bastard! Just because you bleeding Catholics don’t believe in a man and his wife having a divorce, you’re going to take it out on my girlfriend?”  
  
  


“Cyn caught the two of you getting off!”

“You’re supposed to be me mate, not hers,” John sputtered. 

“This isn’t bloody sixth form,” Paul spat. “We’re all bloody adults here, and I won’t be picking sides like I’m a child, John. Someone has to be the adult here, and I am more than willing to have it be me.”

John scoffed. “Can you believe what he’s saying to me?” 

“Now, John, is it possible that Paul might have a point?” George Martin asked, a hand held in the air. “I mean, have you considered that it’s possible that you’ve been behaving in a manner people may _happen_ to find unsuitable?”

John spluttered. “Me? What about him?” 

“Hey!”

“I think that the two of you should take the rest of the day off,” he said in response, exhaustion evident in his tone. “Perhaps some time apart from each other will remind you how to behave in a manner befitting of being in a recording session?” 

* * *

“Well, the good news is, it doesn’t look like it’s broken,” Linda told him, and Paul breathed a sigh of relief. Having a broken nose wasn’t on his list of activities that he had planned for his day. He had just wanted to get through a single recording session without an argument breaking out, and the fact that that had been distinctly unsuccessful rankled him almost as much as his nose hurt him. She sighed “I just want to know what you were thinking, Paul.”

“He upset me,” Paul supplied. “He said things that I didn’t want to hear, and I reacted with anger, because John doesn’t listen when you react any other way. He barely listens when you use your fists.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Is Heather still at school?” 

“Yes,” she assured him. “What happened?” 

“The bloody arse read that article in the Daily Mirror about Joseph,” he told her. “And of course, decided that the fact that she wasn’t conceived immaculately meant that in his mind I was nothing to her.” He drew in a quick breath. “I know it’s not true, Lin. It just made me angry.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“It just— he hurt me,” he admitted. “Not just physically. Being roughed up, that I can handle. It’s just that we’re supposed to be brothers, and that fucker keeps treating me, and our family, like we’re nothing.”

Linda sighed, and she put her arms around his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that the two of you are supposed to be close, and I don’t mean to be the cause of such trouble.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, and he reached up and clasped her hand. “I’d rather be with you and our girl, if that’s all the same to you. I love you, Lin, I love you and Heather so much. I don’t give a bloody damn what John, or the Daily Mirror, or anyone has to say about it.”

“I love you, too,” she said, and she sat down on the settee beside him, and took his hand in hers. “I think that it might be time to view your partnership with John as more of a business partnership, and not what you’re doing, which is trying to hold on to something that might not exist anymore.” 

He sighed. “Maybe you’re right,” he admitted. “You make me happy,” he added. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.” He grinned at her. “You and Heather, you’ve really made a difference in my life, you know that, right?” 

“I know, starting with the fact that you have edible food in your kitchen,” she teased. “You’re home for the rest of the day?” 

“George Martin sent us both home like we’re children,” he said with a sigh. “I can’t exactly say I blame him for doing so. Our behaviour was out of control.” In truth, Paul wasn’t ashamed of how he had acted. John was never going to listen to reason, and if punching him meant that he was going to lay off Heather, Paul was not going to regret doing so. “I just didn’t want him to think it was acceptable to talk about our daughter that way.” 

Linda squeezed his knee. “I know, luv, it’s okay. I’m not angry with you. I was just wondering if you wanted to come with me to get Heather when school gets out for the day.”

Paul didn’t normally go with Linda to pick Heather up at school. He found that his presence at the school was distracting to literally everyone involved, whether it be Heather’s fellow pupils or the staff that was engaged at the primary school, or the other parents and guardians. It was a hazard of being a Beatle, and sending her to a local primary school rather than a state school had caused it to be her reality. Heather was a shy child, and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. 

“Does she want me to?” 

“She asked me if you would when I brought her there,” Linda said. “I told her that I was sorry, but that you had to work, that you were working on your new album. She was disappointed, but she understood.” 

“You reckon she’d be happy to see me?” He perked up at that.

“I do,” she said, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “You’ll just have to tell her how cheeky you were today to be able to skive off work.” 

“Daddy was naughty.” He traced his fingers up Linda’s side, feeling entirely more content than he had been the entire day. “Daddy acted without thinking, he behaved rashly, and he owes Mr. Martin an apology for ruining his pullover and causing a scene in the studio. Daddy should probably apologize to John, but he doesn’t much feel like that right now.” He sighed. “I need to ring Cyn. It seems that John is content to make me feel obligated to care for Julian, lest we hear about another adventure that he’s undertook in the care of John and Yoko.” 

“Heather likes him,” she said. “I think it’s probably good for them both.” 

“Right, well, standing in the middle of a bloody zebra crossing would be more beneficial than spending time with Yoko,” he informed her. “They’re both absolutely barmy, Lin. You should have heard him trying to justify electing to primal scream instead of acknowledging his own child. I thought Henry was going to have a stroke. “

“But to answer your question,” he added. “Yeah, I’d love to go with you. I think it would be brilliant.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Cor,” he murmured. “She’s my daughter. Isn’t that what fathers do? Go pick them up at the schoolyard gate? That shouldn’t change just because I’m a Beatle, not if Heather wants me to, not if she doesn’t care.”

Paul stretched himself out on the settee, and he laid his head on Linda’s lap, needing to have contact with her. He took care not to aggravate his throbbing nose, however. There was no need to have a repeat of what had happened with George’s jumper, only this time with Linda’s jeans. He was exhausted. 

“Why don’t you close your eyes and get a kip in?” She suggested, as her fingers carded his hair. He grinned at her use of the phrase. “What?”

“Nothing, luv,” he said. “I just think you’re cute when you say things like that.” 

“Go to sleep,” she whispered. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time for us to go.” 

Paul had managed to sleep decently, and he’d woken himself up without much complaint when Linda had told him that they’d ought to get ready to leave his flat soon to pick up Heather. He had thought about arranging to have them driven there, but he decided that it would be better to drive himself, given that it seemed that his driver was a beacon for the birds to be summoned by. Oh, of course they followed him when he drove, but they did so in a less death inducing manner. Heather liked when he drove them, anyways, especially since she got to sit in the middle front seat, between him and her mum. Paul felt it was the safest place for her. 

He made the decision to change out of the outfit he’d worn to the studio that morning, mainly because it appeared that his shirt was as much a casualty of his practically broken nose as the jumper, the passenger’s seat of Richie’s car, and the carpeting of the studio they’d been using. He really didn’t want Heather to see the blood and then be alarmed. There was nothing to worry about. 

He was fine. 

“Come ead,” he told Linda. “I’m driving, is that all right?” 

“You didn’t want to send for a driver?” 

“No, Lin, she wants us to pick her up, and I want to do it all proper like,” he said. “We’ll take the Aston. You don’t mind that I’ve agreed to mind Julian, do you?” Paul asked Linda, as he started the vehicle. “I am sorry, luv, I should have asked you first.” 

Linda shook her head. “I don’t mind,” she said. “Honestly, Paul, what else were you meant to do? Tell John that you thought his plan to leave his five-year-old to his own devices while he and Yoko did who knows what was in anyway wise?” 

Paul scrubbed his hand over his face, and he furrowed his brow. “No, I couldn’t have done that,” he said with a sigh. “Yoko doesn’t even have custody of that daughter of hers,” he told her. “God only knows why, and I am not willing to let John play Roulette with Julian in order to find out the hard way.” He shook his head. “It’s like you said. It’s good for Heather to have a mate.” 

He pulled out of the driveway, taking care to avoid hitting the flocks of birds who’d congregated in front of his house, and he offered them a friendly wave. “And it’s not as if poor Jules has many,” he said with a sigh. “I feel positive that John has allowed his terrible behaviour to create an unfortunate reputation for the lad.” 

Beside him, Linda frowned, and she reached over to rest her hand on his leg. “I know. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately—”  
  
  


“No, luv,” he corrected, his tone gentle. “Nothing has ‘gotten into’ John lately. It’s just that you’ve been privy to what he’s actually like, rather than being exposed to the persona that he shows the rest of the bloody world.” Paul lit a cigarette, shoved it in his mouth, and opened the window, allowing the smoke to escape. “He’s always been bleeding impossible. It’s just that he typically isn’t bloody well encouraged along in his poor behaviour, you see?” 

He used his indicator to enter the road that Heather’s school was on. 

“So, he normally gets it out of his system, has a strop, and goes back to acting like he bloody well knows that he bloody well should.” Paul knew his face bore a scowl. “Now he has his old lady encouraging him to behave like a classless boor.” He shook his head. “It’s been no secret that Jules wasn’t bloody well planned, and that John married Cyn because that was the proper thing to do, but he’s _never_ been so openly hostile toward them, at least not until Yoko opened her mouth and convinced John that this latest smear campaign was in any way appropriate.” 

He let out a sigh.

“I know she’s not entirely to blame, Lin, but she hasn’t helped any.” 

The primary school was in his sight, and he indicated again in order to pull the automobile against the kerb. He took a final drag of the cigarette and he extinguished it into the ashtray, before he leaned back against his seat. “Well, here we are,” he said. “Are we early?”

“Not by much,” Linda said. “And you’re nervous, aren’t you?”

Paul nodded. While he’d gone along with Linda and Heather when they were deciding on the primary school to send her to, he hadn’t yet been on a proper school run, both due to the fact that the band had been back in the studio, and the fact that he hadn’t wanted to be the cause of school related discomfort. He was a Beatle, people recognised him, but to Heather, he was her dad. 

If she hadn’t asked him to go, he would have stayed behind in the flat. But she’d asked for him, and that made him feel bloody well chuffed. He’d stomach being the centre of attention for her. He’d move the whole bloody world for the girl, if she’d asked him to. He was her daddy. She didn’t give two stuffs about the realities of him being a Beatle, she just thought it was fab when she heard her daddy on the radio. 

And, well, Paul had to admit he thought that was bloody brilliant. 

“A bit,” he allowed himself to admit. “But I’ll be alright. I just hope we’re not swarmed with people when they realise who her daddy is. Mainly for her sake.” Paul was used to the perils of fame. He could handle a crowd. He just preferred that Heather not be traumatized. “Don’t worry,” he told Linda, as he shifted in the seat so that he was facing her. “I won’t let anything happen to her. I’ll put her up on me shoulders. You know how much she loves that.” 

And she was markedly safer from the fans if she was on his shoulders, given that she was too small for her age, and liable to get lost in a crush. Carrying her would make him feel better. 

“She loves you,” she assured him. She’ll be so happy that you’re here, that you’ve come, and that’s what will matter to her. That’s what matters to me, too.” 

Paul leaned in and gave her a kiss. “I love you, Lin.” He kissed her again, and he caressed her hair. “What do you say that we go get our girl?” 

“I reckon we ought to,” she said. “We don’t want to keep her waiting, do we?” 

Paul stood by what he’d told John earlier that day, even though it had gotten him punched. Heather was his daughter, her biology didn’t matter, and he didn’t bloody well care that Joseph See had sold his story to the Daily Mirror. Paul knew that he was the only father that she had known, and that wasn’t a status he took lightly. Sure, he knew that there was nothing legally binding them together, but he hoped that that would change in the future. He didn’t blame Linda for not wanting to get remarried. 

Her first marriage had been a mistake, and he knew that her father was still hounding her over it. 

He knew that Mr. Eastman likely considered Heather to be a mistake, even though Paul thought she was the most amazing girl he’d ever been able to know. He didn’t consider children to be mistakes, anyways. He thought that was a harsh word, especially since the people who viewed their children as mistakes often told them that, which he felt to be unacceptable. 

He opened the car door and shut it behind him, before he went over to Linda’s side of the automobile to open hers, and help her out of the car. 

“What exactly do we do here?” He whispered, as he looped his arm around her shoulders. “I don’t want to do something wrong.” He felt himself flush. “Cause more of a scene than I do by being in public and breathing.” 

“We just wait here,” she said, as they approached an area with a giant tree, with a bench sat underneath. “Heather’s teacher, she brings them out, and they disperse with their respective families.” 

“You want to sit with me?” Paul asked, and he tugged her down onto his lap, a cheeky grin blooming on his face. “Just for a minute? Until they’re out?” 

Linda giggled. “Seems like I need to, to cover you up until you’ve been sorted.” She shifted on his lap. 

“Oh, you’ve noticed that?” Paul lacked shame. He didn’t mind Linda acknowledging the fact that he found her to be arousing. “What am I meant to say, luv? You’re bloody it for me.” He looped his arms around her waist, and nestled his head on the crook of her shoulder. “She really wants me to be here?”

Linda nodded. “Yeah, she does,” she said. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Paul.”

“I know that,” he said, as he shifted himself. “I reckon it’s a big deal for her,” he said. “Havin’ her parents pick her up, you know? I never really had that growin’ up. Mum and Dad, they worked. They loved us, but they didn’t have the ability to bring us home from school.” He sighed. “I’ll do better than that for her. I’ll even leave the studio every day if she’d want that.” 

“You’d stop recording to pick Heather up at school?” Linda’s tone was one that sounded faintly impressed. “Paul, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s a bloody well legitimate reason to stop recording,” he insisted. “Certainly, much more legitimate than reasons others have provided. If they have bloody complaints to be had about it, they can take it up with me. I’m exhausted, Lin. They’re my mates, but they’re bloody exhausting sometimes. I’d much rather do my bit and then come get our girl.” 

“I know you would,” she told him. “I think that would make Heather happy.” 

He kissed her on the cheek. “So, it’s sorted, then? I’ll start doing that more? We can take the tube back to EMI when I do. She’d get a thrill.” 

Paul liked it when Heather came to the studio, mainly because she seemed to enjoy being there with him, being a part of his world, but he would be remiss to not add on the fact that the child’s presence encouraged a sense of the need for proper behaviour in the studio. Who knew that the presence of a child was more effective than any of his or George Martin’s best lectures? Paul had been flabbergasted when he’d taken notice of it, and he certainly wouldn’t have believed in Heather’s behavioural cures had he not seen evidence of the changed behaviour with his own eyes. 

“You’ll have to tell her yourself,” Linda said in response, and she reached down and squeezed his hand. “And it looks like you’re about to get your opportunity.” 

The doors of the building had opened up, and a crowd of eager-to-leave primary school students streamed out of the main entrance. “Those are the older ones, right?” Paul questioned. Linda nodded. 

“They’re coming,” she promised. “They wait for the older pupils to clear out, so as to not overwhelm the younger ones.”

“She does like it here, right?” Paul fretted. Heather was a rather shy child. He didn’t want going to school to be a painful experience for her. “Lin—”

Paul cut himself off from his line of questioning when he spotted Heather exiting the building, and he offered her a wave, pleased when she noticed that it was him, and grinned widely, before eschewing allowing him and Linda to walk up to the group of students in favour of barrelling down the steps and over to where they were sat, her rucksack dangling off of one arm. 

“Daddy!” she chirped, as she approached the bench, her eyes wide. “You did come. Mummy said that you were going to be busy at work.” 

“That’s because she didn’t realise that Mr. Martin had planned to give me and John the afternoon off,” he said, and he patted the bench beside them. “So, I thought what better way to celebrate having the rest of the day free than coming with Mummy to get you, especially since she told me you wanted me to come.”

Heather nodded, and she wriggled herself close to him. He wrapped his arm around her, wanting her to be close. “How was school, luvvy?” 

“It was okay,” she said. “We did loads of things, we had art today,” she informed him. “I painted a picture.” 

“Will you show us when we get home?” 

She nodded. “Yes, will you come ‘ed?” 

Heather had taken to peppering her speech with the slang words that Paul had grown up using when he lived in Liverpool, and he thought that it was the most adorable thing, even though she hadn’t yet gained much of a proper accent. He suspected that was coming, though, what with their decision to settle in Britain for the foreseeable future. 

“Yes, poppet, I’m going to be there the whole evening,” he said. “And tomorrow, too. Maybe we’ll let you skive off and have a family day?” 

“Can we, Mummy?” 

“That depends,” Linda said. “Daddy needs to ring Julian’s mum and see what she needs him to do with him. It’s possible that it might have to be more than one day away from school, is that fine with you, pet?” 

Heather nodded. “That would be brilliant.”

“Heather!” Linda admonished, though Paul noted that she merely looked amused. “Come give your father a hug.” 

“I can’t, Mummy,” she said. “You’re sitting on his lap. How can I hug him?”

“She’s not wrong, you know,” he said. “You don’t mind if Julian comes by?” 

Heather shook her head. “He’s my...me mate, isn’t he? Even if he doesn’t come by very often.” 

With a final kiss, Linda delicately climbed off Paul’s lap, and he found her replaced by Heather, who’d taken advantage of the opportunity to inadvertently knee a sensitive part of his anatomy, and wrap him into a bear hug at the same time. He forced himself not to make his pain evident. “Yes,” he told her. “He’s your mate, just like his mum and his dad are me mates.” 

“I want to play with him,” she said. “Can we play with Martha? And Thisbe? Can we watch the telly? Will you sing to us?” 

“I think that we can arrange for that,” he told her. “As long as you’re well behaved. When we get home, I’m going to ring Julian’s mum, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “Did you take the tube to get me?” 

“No, luv, Mummy and I drove the automobile to get you today,” he said, and he noticed the pout on her face. “I know, luv, you like when we ride the tube. We will soon, I promise.” 

“No driver?” 

“No, luv, I drove,” he promised. “You can sit in the front between me and Mum.”

“That’s brilliant,” she told him, and her eyes widened with joy. “Will you carry me?”

“You don’t want to walk, Heather?” Linda asked. Heather shook her head in a rather ferocious manner. “Are you all right to carry her, then, Paul?” 

“Yeah, I reckon I can manage it,” he said. “I’m big and strong, aren’t I, Heather?” 

Heather nodded. “Please, Daddy?” 

“Of course. Hold on tight.” Paul lifted her up as he stood, and she squealed happily. “We’re not parked that far away. I’ll be fine.” 

* * *

“You really don’t have to do this,” Cynthia said with a sigh, as she twisted the cord of the phone with her fingers. “It’s fine, Paul.”

“I know I don’t have to,” he said, his voice coming through the receiver, clear as a bell. “I just think that Jules and Heather would have a better time playing amongst themselves, rather than by their lonesome. Surely you agree?” 

“Well, of course, I agree with that,” she said, and she let out another sigh. “I just can’t help but feel that you’re pretending that this arrangement was by Heather’s request, and not because John can’t be arsed to pretend to be interested in spending time with his own son.” 

On the other end of the line, she heard Paul make a non-committal noise in response. “Well, uh, Cyn, I suppose that you could be onto something.” 

“What did he tell you?” Part of Cynthia didn’t want to know what John had said about her and Julian. The other part wanted desperately to know. “Paul?”  
  
  


“Sorry?” Paul questioned. “What was the question? The line went bad for a mo, there.”

Cynthia rolled her eyes, and she reached for her pack of cigarettes, and her lighter, taking care to light one before she dignified Paul with a response. She doubted highly that the line had gone bad, and she suspected that he was saying so in an attempt to evade answering her question. She couldn’t entirely blame him for that. She was aware that John viewed Paul’s continued communications with Julian, and with herself, as a deeply personal insult, and she was frankly surprised that he continued to speak with her, given that she could say the same wasn’t true for all of the others. It seemed that her daring to proceed with her divorce had made her persona non grata amongst what had once been her social circle. Clearly John’s influence had swayed the rest of his bandmates, and Mo and Pattie. 

“I was wondering what John’s latest complaint was,” she said. “I don’t suppose you have an explanation for why you’re the only person who bothers to still give me a ring?” 

She heard Paul sigh. “He seems upset you want him to take Jules for his portion of the custody agreement,” he said after a moment of dead air. “As for your second question, I couldn’t honestly tell you.” He sighed once more. She heard the click of a light. “Maybe he’s been running his mouth round the others? I wouldn’t be stunned if he was.” 

“Well, isn’t that just bloody wonderful? He gets to swan around with that awful woman and I get to turn into a social pariah because his pride was wounded because why? I wouldn’t let him remain my husband if he kept her hanging around like she was a stray mutt? Bollocks to that, Paul.” 

Cynthia took a drag of her cigarette. “He’s made Julian feel like he’s absolutely unwanted.”

“I know, Cyn, and I’m sorry about that,” Paul said. “I’ve tried to tell him that this behaviour of his is abhorrent, but you know how incorrigible he can be— just a moment, Cyn.”  
  
  


“Take your time,” she said. “I can ring you back?”

“No, it’s all right,” he said. “Heather’s just wanting to ask me something. What is it, luv?”

Cynthia couldn’t hear the girl’s response clearly through the receiver, but she forced herself to tamp down the burst of jealousy that she felt at Paul interacting with the girl who was his defacto stepdaughter. It was wrong to admit that she was jealous of Heather and Linda, but she really was, at least on some level. She stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, and she lit another, trying not to pay the muffled conversation much mind, though it was difficult. 

“Sorry,” she heard him say, and she straightened up in her chair. “Heather just wanted my help with something.”  
  
“You don’t have to apologise, Paul.” 

He sighed. “Come round with Julian,” he said. “We’ll make an evening of it. You, me, Lin. Like the old times, minus that old tosser.”

“I can’t, Paul, you know that.”  
  
  


“Why? Because John said he doesn’t want you to? I don’t care what he wants.”

“He’ll be angry at you,” she sighed. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know that.”

“I know that I don’t bloody well care what John thinks of me,” he said. She heard him take a drink. “If John wants me to be on his bloody side, he can stop acting like a bloody wa— a bloody pissant.” 

“Heather’s in the room with you, isn’t she?” Cynthia asked, her tone teasing. 

Paul chuckled. “Yeah, she’s here. Listening ears, you know?” She heard him sigh. “You can just bring him ‘ead, if you want. I reckon I get why you wouldn’t want to stay.”  
  
  


“Is it really what you want? Me coming round? Us ‘making an evening’ out of it?” 

“Yeah, it is what I want.” 

“Well, fine,” she said. “I’ll give it ago. Stay for a little. We’ll see how it goes.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” she said. “I’m bloody tired of John thinking he can control my bloody life,” she said, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “It would be one thing if we were still married and he was still my husband, but why bother toeing the line now? He doesn’t bloody budge on anything, even if I make my best efforts to go along with his wishes. So, the hell with it. I’m damned either way. And I want to see you,” she admitted. “And get to know Linda. If that’s what you want.”

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t mean it,” he said. “Come by. Smoke some grass with us. Jules and Heather can play together. We’ll see how it goes, and if it doesn’t work out, I won’t ask you again. Okay?”  
  
  


Cynthia nodded, and then remembered that Paul couldn’t see the gesture. “Yeah, Paul, I reckon that will be all right,” she said. “I’ll be round in a bit.”

“Ta,” he said. “See you then.”

“Ta,” she echoed. “See you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sure that’s not true,” Paul said, lying through his teeth in the process, but he put his feelings on the morality of lying to children aside for the sake of ensuring that Julian wouldn’t have a (justified, at least in Paul’s mind) strop on the front steps of his flat. The birds were keeping a respectful berth, but he was doubtful they’d keep either their distance or their mouths quiet if John Lennon’s only son had a tanty on his front steps because John was behaving in a manner that was absolutely abhorrent. “Your dad just thought that it would be fun for you and Heather to spend some time together today.”

“Julian’s really going to come over?” Heather queried, her eyes widened with anticipation, and she scrambled up to join Paul and Linda on the sofa, squeezing herself in between them. “His mum said it was okay?”

“Yes,” Paul told her. “Julian and his mum are going to come over and spend the evening with us. They’re coming for tea.”

“Julian’s mum is staying?” Heather sounded confused, and she curled closer to Linda. “Why?”

Linda glanced over at Paul, who was sporting a panicked look, and she decided to take on mustering up a suitable explanation for Heather, who didn’t need to hear Paul’s version of the scenario, mainly because Linda sensed that it would expand her five year old’s vocabulary in a way she didn’t entirely care to have it expanded.

“Because,” she said, and she carded her fingers through Heather’s hair. “Cynthia’s our friend, Heather. She wants to have tea with us. It doesn’t make much sense for her to have to drive out here and then back to her house, only to have to do it all again in a matter of hours, does it?”

Heather shook her head. “If she’s your mate, she should have a playdate with the two of you,” she said. “Why doesn’t she take the tube?”

“What?”

“Instead of driving,” she said. “It’s way more fun. You should tell her, Daddy.”

“Cyn and Julian live on an estate, poppet,” Paul answered, as he reached out and ruffled her hair. “I don’t think that the underground goes there. They need to have access to an automobile, because they live out in the country.”

“Like in Kintyre?”

“Not quite,” he said. “They live in a suburb,” he told her. “Near Richie and Mo. It’s further away from London than we are, but it’s not far away like the farm is. Kintyre is up in Scotland, luv. It would be hard for them to live up there, since that was where John used to live, and he needed to be able to get to the studio easily, so we could work.”

“I liked the farm,” she whispered. “Can we go back, soon?”

“I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Paul said. “We could go on a little holiday. What do you think, Lin?”

“It would be nice to get away from the bustle of London,” Linda admitted. “What about school, though?”

“Julian doesn’t go to school,” she supplied. “He said his Mum has him do lessons at home. Couldn’t I…?”

Linda and Paul exchanged a glance. “Is that what you’d like?”

School had been a fairly miserable thing for Heather, both when she’d attended in New York City, and Linda wasn’t really surprised that it hadn’t entirely improved since they’d settled in in London. She was surprised that Heather was complaining about it. Heather typically bottled her emotions up until she couldn’t hold them in any longer.

She nodded. “I don’t like school,” she said. “Everyone’s mean to me.”

“Why haven’t you said anything sooner?” Linda asked, her tone gentle. “We would have gone down and spoken with the headmaster.”

“We’re going to go down and speak to the headmaster,” Paul corrected. “Before we send her back. What happened, darling?”

“I just don’t like them,” she whispered. “They’re mean to me. They don’t like me because you’re my dad.”

“Luv—-”

“I want you to still be my dad,” she added hastily. “I don’t care what they think. They’re not me mates if they’re jealous of me.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “Me being your dad isn’t going to change because of some arseholes being jealous, okay? You’re me daughter, Heather. Maybe you won’t ever look like me, but that doesn’t matter, because you’re my daughter right here.” Linda watched as Paul took Heather’s hand in his, and pressed them against the spot on his chest that contained his heart. “And if you’d rather spend time with me and Mum than at school, well, we’ll make sure you’re sorted. Won’t we, Lin?”

Heather looked in her direction, her gaze absolutely pitiful. Linda thought her heart might break.

“Will you, Mummy?”

She nodded. “Of course,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” she said. “Thank you. Can I have a cookie?”

“May I have a cookie,” she corrected idly. “And yes, I think we can arrange for that to happen.”

“Come ‘ead, luv,” Paul beckoned. “We can have milk and cookies in the kitchen. That way we don’t get the settee all grotty.”

At the mention of food, Martha raised her head, and sniffed the air experimentally, before she elected to rise from her position on the floor, where she’d been taking a kip. It was clear that the dog sensed there was a potential for crumbs from either Paul or Heather, and Linda couldn’t exactly blame Martha for her assumptions.

Heather ran ahead of them, the dog at her feet, and Linda let out a quiet sigh.

“What is it?” Paul asked.

“I thought Heather’s issues in New York were because she was woefully out of place at that private school that my dad insisted that she go to,” Linda said, taking care to lower her voice. “And now I find out that it’s happening here?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I reckon it’s because of me. I never meant for this to happen, for her to be treated poorly because she’s my daughter. Because I’m a bloody Beatle.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “You can’t help being famous, Paul. You don’t ask those kids to be cruel to her.” Linda squeezed his hand. “It’s not the end of the world if we pull her out of school. She’ll adapt.”

“Are you sure?” Paul squeezed her hand back. “Lin?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “We should go make sure she’s not feeding all of the cookies to Martha.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “No, we don’t want that, do we? Martha probably wouldn’t mind, though.”

Paul’s sheepdog had been a quick study in what it meant to have access to a child, or more specifically, a child’s eating habits.

“Poor, soon to be deprived, Martha,” Linda said, her lips turned up in a grin. “She’ll survive.”

* * *

“Are you sure that Julian’s mum is going to like me?” Heather questioned, after she’d finished one of the last cookies that Linda had set out for the three of them, and Paul nodded in response, as he was mid-drink. “Are you sure, Daddy?”

Paul swallowed. “I’m sure, luvvy,” he said, and he reached out to smooth her hair with his free hand. “Are you nervous about meeting her?”

Heather nodded. “A bit,” she said. “She’s not that bird from the studio, is she?”

“Bird from the studio…?” Linda questioned, glancing away from the electric kettle, the comment from Heather distracting her. “What are you talking about?”

“John has taken to bringing Yoko to every recording session he can,” Paul supplied. “And, no, Heather, she’s not the ‘bird from the studio’. John was married before.”

“Like Mummy?”

“In a sense,” Paul said, and he took another sip of the milk, mainly to centre his thoughts. “The difference is that John and Cynthia are...raising Julian together, while your biological father had to go to Africa to study. Africa isn’t a good place to raise a child, when you’re not from the area. John and Cyn, they both live in England, you see? Julian can travel between them easily.”

Heather nodded. “That makes sense,” she said. “Can I sit with you?”

Paul nodded. “Sure, poppet. You’re more than welcomed to. Budge up.”

Heather scrambled up onto his lap, still clad in her school kit, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It was clear that she needed reassurance of some sort, and he was more than happy to provide her with it. That was what dads did, after all. They ensured that their children were happy. Or at least secure. Happiness wasn’t always a possibility. Paul knew that as well as anyone.

“I want you to know that I’m not going to do that,” he told her. “I’m not going to abandon you or your mum. Not for any reason. I meant it when I said that I might marry Mummy someday, okay? And right now, we’re as good as. We don’t need a bleeding piece of paper to be a true, proper, family.”

“I know, Daddy.” Heather glanced up at him. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said. He looked over at Linda. “I love you, too, Lin.”

“I love you, too, Mummy,” Heather supplied, before she shoved another cookie in her mouth.

Linda offered them both a smile. “I love the two of you, very much.”

“I know,” Paul said, and he reached over to give her hand a squeeze. “Thank you for giving me the chance to prove that I’m worthy of this,” he said. “Of being your partner. Of being her dad.”

Paul knew that it had taken Linda some time to decide that this was what she wanted, and he was so glad that she had taken a chance on him, and that Heather had warmed to him. He had found Heather’s decision to call him daddy somewhat forward at first, but he had been quick to adapt, once Linda had said that it would be okay with her. He hadn’t wanted to overstep any boundaries, even though that was what Heather had wanted. Heather’s opinion was paramount, of course, but Linda was her mum. Forward steps, such as being Heather’s dad, needed to be cleared by her mother. And he had done so. He had taken a leap of faith and gone to New York with Linda, and then had taken another leap of faith and invited them back to England with him, when he’d needed to go back to the studio. The only issue they’d really come across was Heather’s classmates.

And, of course, John’s decision to bring up the bloody Daily Mirror. Paul was still annoyed by that.

“You’ve proven yourself,” Linda said. “You’re more than worthy, Paul. You always have been.” She squeezed his shoulders. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, okay?”

“I can’t help it, Lin, it’s part of me charm,” he said, and he gave her a playful grin. “Me perfectionistic nature is what makes me delightfully me.”

“I know,” she whispered, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Will you give it a shot? For me?”

“I’d do a lot of bloody things for you that I wouldn’t do for others,” he said. “Even giving changing part of me persona a shot.”

“What’s a persona?”

“Me personality, luv,” he said. “Mummy thinks I can be too hard on meself sometimes. So, I’ve decided that I’ve got to do me best to change that, to be the best father I can be to you, and the best partner I can be to Mummy. Because the two of you deserve me at my best.” He gave her a kiss. “Why don’t you go wash up and change out of your pinafore?” It was an order, not a suggestion. “That way you’ll be more comfortable when our guests get here.”

“Okay,” she said. “You and Mummy can split the last cookie.”

Paul got the sense that Heather felt this was an honour. She planted a kiss on his lips and climbed off his lap, heading in the direction of her room. Paul broke the cookie that remained on the plate in half, and he beckoned Linda over to him.

“Sit with me for a mo,” he said. “You heard our daughter. She wants us to have this cookie.”

Linda obliged him, and she sat on his lap, taking the cookie in her hand. “You really love Heather, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a family. Kids. A woman who wants me to come home to her. And I have that with you. I wouldn’t want to jeopardise any of that. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know that, Paul,” she said. “And I hope you realise that I’m not taking the idea of marriage off the table in its entirety. I do want to marry you. I just need some more time.”

Paul nodded. “Cor, Lin, I don’t expect you to marry me right off. I’m willing to wait, for as long as you and Heather need. Even if that means it never happens.”

“I don’t think that it will never happen,” she said. “I don’t want you to worry about that.” She leaned back so she could nestle her head on his chest. “I’m not averse to having more children, either,” she added.

“You’d be willing to have another?”

Linda nodded. “Maybe even more than one,” she said. “I don’t see why not.”

“We ought to see what Heather thinks, don’t you think?”

“What do you want to ask her now?”

He shook his head. “No, she’s already nervous about seeing Jules. We should wait until she’s in a better state of things. I would hate for hypotheticals to upset her.”

“You’re a great dad,” she said, as she broke off a piece of the cookie.

* * *

“Uncle Paul!” Julian chirped, before he enveloped Paul in a rather tight hug, and he reached down and patted the lad on the head, offering Cynthia a comforting smile in response to the apologetic look she’d given him. “Mummy said that we’re going to spend an evening with you, and that I don’t have to see Dad, or Yoko, or Kyoko, or none of them.”

“Julian!” Cynthia chastised. “What have I told you about talking about your father like that?”

Julian rolled his eyes, though not in her direction. “You said that it was rude,” he muttered. “But it’s not rude. They don’t want me around, do they?”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Paul said, lying through his teeth in the process, but he put his feelings on the morality of lying to children aside for the sake of ensuring that Julian wouldn’t have a (justified, at least in Paul’s mind) strop on the front steps of his flat. The birds were keeping a respectful berth, but he was doubtful they’d keep either their distance or their mouths quiet if John Lennon’s only son had a tanty on his front steps because John was behaving in a manner that was absolutely abhorrent. “Your dad just thought that it would be fun for you and Heather to spend some time together today.”

Julian scrunched up his face. “Well, all right, I guess,” he said, having considered Paul’s statement. “Is he telling the truth, Mummy?”

“Of course he’s telling the truth,” Cyn said, and if there was an edge to her tone, well. Paul wouldn’t acknowledge it around the child, and Julian would remain oblivious. “Uncle Paul wouldn’t lie to you, Jules.”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Heather’s been wanting to see you,” he told him. That wasn’t a lie. “So I spoke to your dad today when we were at work together, and we agreed that you would come here. To play with Heather.” Technically, Paul wasn’t lying. He had meant to speak in a mature manner with John whilst at the recording studio, it had just been unfortunate circumstances that had led to them having their little bout of fisticuffs. Mainly the fact that John was an utterly unrepentant prick who’d been more than willing to idolise his latest obsession rather than take a moment to utilise the common sense that God gave a goat (Paul felt that comparison was rather insulting towards goats, if he was honest with himself) and recognise what his utterly daft behaviour had done to his son. Circumstances. “If you don’t want to stay, I can give your Da a ring, right now.”

Julian shook his head. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Right, well, come ead, then, the both of you,” Paul said, and he scratched at the side of his face, before he beckoned both Julian and Cynthia into the house. “Heather’s in the sitting room with Martha.”

“Can I give Martha a biscuit?”

“It’s may I give Martha a biscuit,” Cyn corrected. “Honestly, Julian, you know that.”

“That’s not what Da says!” Julian retorted.

“I don’t give a bloody--”

“Yes,” Paul said, his tone firm enough to stop Cynthia’s (probably justified) rant in its tracks. “You and Heather may give Martha some biscuits,” he said. “If you don’t remember where they are, she knows, and she will show you.”

“Cor blimey, that’s brill, Uncle Paul.”

“Right, well, I’m glad that you think so,” he said, as he propelled Julian in the direction of the dog, and his daughter. “The two of you behave in there. We’ll come get you when we have supper sorted, you hear?”

“Yes, Uncle Paul,” Julian said, his tone dutiful.

“Heather?”

Heather nodded, and she glanced up at him, taking a moment’s rest from brushing Martha. “Yes, Daddy. We’ll be good.”

“Thank you, luvvy.”

Martha let out an obliging bark, which was fitting, since Paul was fairly certain she was the only one guaranteed to listen to him. It wasn’t that either child was particularly ill-behaved, far from it, it was just that Paul had found that two children playing together was a situation that was bound to not have people behaving at their best. Not that it was either child’s fault. It was just part and parcel of the realities of children interacting with one another, and he was dubious it was something that people grew out of, especially when he thought of John’s overreaction to the truth at the studio.

Why, yes, Paul’s nose did hurt again, and it was possible the pain was aggravating some angry thoughts on his behalf, and turning him into an unkind person.

“Look,” he said, and he turned to Cyn, lighting a cigarette as he did. “I’m sorry that I stopped you from saying whatever it was that you were going to say to Julian.” Paul really wasn’t. But a white lie never hurt anyone. “I understand that you’re not happy with John, but you need to understand that you shouldn’t be saying things outside of here that you don’t want one of the birds we keep outdoors running off to the Daily Mail with to make a bloody good paycheque!”

“You still have women hanging around?” Cynthia asked. “Gimme a fag.”

“Of course, I still have the birds hanging round,” Paul told her. “What? Don’t tell me you’re that skint.”

“Don’t be daft,” she said. “Why would I pop round the shops when I would be treated to seeing John’s photograph lurking in the shadows wherever I went? You can’t honestly think that I’m leaving the house like a normal person, do you?” She scowled. “Mum has been bringing us the necessities,” she said. “Should I have asked her for a box or two?”

“I just don’t think hiding away is going to do you, or Julian, any good,” Paul said in a hushed tone. “I don’t think that it’s going to work out, Cyn. Not this time. He’s not going to run back to ye, tail between his legs, making you all those false promises that barely last a fortnight. He’s chosen her. I don’t like it either. But hiding away isn’t going to change the fact that John’s granted ye a divorce. Ignoring your reality isn’t going to make it go away.”

He took another ciggie out of his pack, and he lit it before handing it to her. “Here you go, that’s sorted, then. Come ead to the kitchen, all right?”

“I’m not bloody ignoring shite, Paul,” Cyn said, as she followed him into the kitchen, where Linda was setting the table for them to have a cuppa. “I know bloody well what the bastard’s gone and done. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said. “I was just trying to introduce some reality into your life.”

“Sod John, if you ask me,” she said. “Bloody bastard had his aunt asking me what I was planning to do with meself. Mimi reckons I ought to get a job.”

“And why does she reckon that?”

“I don’t bloody well know,” she said. “I have me money from John. I’ll be sorted.”

Paul drew in a deep breath, and he elected to table the topic of discussion for the present time, more than a bit annoyed with the fact that he was now admitting (at least to himself) that he was in agreement with Mimi Smith, of all of the people whom he did not want to agree with, and who he was bloody well sure would be in an absolute state if she caught wind of the fact that James Paul McCartney (of all the bloody sods who’d grown up in Liverpool) bloody well was in agreement with her, but the fact was that he was. Perhaps Cynthia didn’t have to work, he allowed himself to consider, but remaining sat at Kentwood wasn’t exactly the most mentally sound way to spend the entirety of her days.

“You remember Cynthia, right, Lin?” Paul asked, as he crossed the room to where his girlfriend stood, and placed a hand on the small of her back.

“Of course I do,” she said, and she offered Cynthia a small, yet genuine, smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s nice to see ye, too,” Cynthia offered up in response. “Thank ye for offering to take Julian for the evening.”

“Paul and I don’t mind,” Linda said. “Heather enjoys his company.”

“Would you like a spot of tea?” Paul asked her. “Or would you prefer something a little stronger?”

“Tea’s fine,” she said, as she took a seat at the table. “What do you mean, something stronger? I’m not going to start popping acid--”

“Don’t be daft,” he said. “I was offering to open me liquor cabinet, not suggest we do lines of coke at the bloody table, while me bloody kid is in the next room. I’m not John, all right? We might be mates, but I know how to bloody well act properly.”

“I never said that you were,” she said, and he watched her puff on her smoke. “I know what the two of you got up to, what the four of you spent your days doing. John might not have wanted me around, but I’m not unobservant, Paul. I know what went on when Julian and I were behind closed doors, what goes on at the studio--”

“What goes on at the studio?” Paul asked, and he busied himself spiking his tea with a hearty portion of rum. “You want to know what goes on at the bloody studio? I spend my bloody time trying to convince John to man up and be a bloody father to his child, that’s what happens, and my hard work results in my songwriting partner having a bloody fit, and popping me one.”

He took a sip of his drink. “And then you come here, and you start in on me,” he said. “You think that I like how John is behaving? You think I don’t want him to change? You think that, what, because I smoke some grass once in awhile, or because we all dropped acid, or because we all bloody well pumped ourselves full of upper when we were starting out, you think that I’m incapable of knowing when someone is behaving improperly? What is it?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it, then? Don’t tell me you regret not taking me up on me offer?”

“He was supposed to come back!” Cynthia said. “He’s always come back to me before.”

“You don’t think I bloody well wish he’d go back to you? Wish there was some magic wand that would return him to normal? You don’t think that we’ve tried? That I’ve tired?”

She sighed. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, well, whatever the two of you had, as far as John’s concerned, it’s over. I’m not saying that to be cruel, Cyn. I’m saying it because I don’t know what the bloody hell he was saying to you.”

“He barely speaks to either of us,” she said. “He’s convinced everyone to cut me off. You’re the only one who even bothers to speak to me.”

“I’m sure that they’ll come ‘round,” Paul offered, his tone meek. He sat down at the table, after topping off his glass. “You know how it goes, Cyn. People need to come to their own conclusions on things.”

“Mo and Pattie won’t even give me the time of day anymore.”

“Yeah, well, that’s on them,” he said. “I don’t have an excuse for either of them.” He sighed, and he scraped his hair back with his free hand, the other having seeked out Linda’s. “Maybe ‘he's happy with Yoko.”

Cynthia shook her head. “Bugger that. He was the one who wanted to marry me. He wanted us to be a proper family, and now he gets to be the one to throw it away?” She sighed. “Just because he’s gone all big headed and she feeds his ego?”

“There are different types of proper families,” Linda said. “I’d raised Heather on my own for years until I met Paul.”

“Cor, well, that’s because you’re an American,” she said. “The country’s gone bloody liberal. You should see the looks I get when I bring Julian around to me mum’s in Hoylake, Linda. Me mum can hardly stand it, and everyone I encounter knows who I am and what John’s done, because he’s bloody well ensured it. You should see the headline on the Mirror.”

“I’d prefer to pretend the Daily Mirror doesn’t exist,” Paul said, in a rather dark tone. “Though, that is interesting. Are you telling me that John’s been feeding the press information on your divorce? To get a rise out of you?”

“Inventing information out of whole cloth, is more like it. I thought you knew, though. Wasn’t that why you had them print that article?”

“No, I had nothing to do with that utter codswallop,” he said. “I haven’t seen it with me own eyes and I’m not planning on it.”

Linda had tightened her hold on his hand. “The things that those rags print, they don’t matter to us. I know that they aren’t true, and if what’s being said about you isn’t true, you ought to be confident in yourself and realise that John is only trying to be a bully. He’s doing it to get a rise out of you.”

The table lapsed into silence. Cynthia seemed to be contemplating the ashtray that sat in front of her, while Paul was trying desperately to remember that he was an adult who was capable of behaving in a manner that wouldn’t scar everyone in the house. What would his mother think if she’d seen how he’d acted at the recording studio earlier that day? He’d shuddered to think. He’d behaved like a child, and stooped to John’s level. It was embarrassing.

Linda was sat beside him, and she’d moved the chair as close as possible to his, clearly able to sense his need for her proximity.

“I’m sorry,” Cyn said. “What I said, it was out of line. I shouldn’t be taking this out on you, on either of you. I’m just upset that he chose her over me. Over our son. He doesn’t even call him.”

Paul scrubbed his hand across his face. “I know, Cyn. I don’t know what to tell you. I wish that I did.”

“Does it get easier?”

It was clear to him that the question was directed towards Linda, and he allowed her to answer it.

“Well, the circumstances were different,” she said. “Joe and I had separated before Heather was born, and we got divorced fairly quickly. He’s never met her. He’s going to severe his rights.” Paul placed his hand on her knee. “So that Paul can adopt her.” She covered his hand with hers. “But, no, being a single mother wasn’t particularly easy. My dad and my stepmum, they weren’t overly thrilled with my getting married in the first place, or the fact that I hadn’t finished college, or the fact that I was a single mum. There were a lot of comparisons to my siblings, you know? But I decided that Heather was to be my priority. She’s my daughter, and she is what matters to me. Not what everyone else may or may not think.” She took a sip of her tea. “But that did take time.”

“And it’s surely better than you not getting on with your life,” Paul said. “I’m not meaning to be cruel, Cyn, but John seems to have done, so you might as well. I get that you didn’t ask for this to be the result of your marriage, but maybe, for now, it’s how it’s going to be.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You should sing that song you wrote when Julian left,” Heather informed him.
> 
> “Oh, no, duck, I don’t think that we’re going to sing that song here,” Paul said, rather hastily. The last thing he wanted was for John to hear the song he had roughly sketched out in a drunken fit of nostalgia that was about his estranged son’s experiences with his parents’ divorce. Paul was willing to toe the line of John’s patience for many things, but he was less than enthused about him hearing ‘Hey Jules’. “That’s one of the songs that we sing at home.”
> 
> “But, Daddy, I really liked it!” Heather insisted. 

Paul prided himself on being a man of his word, and he had decided that he was definitely going to be bringing Heather to the recording studio, regardless of whether or not John had been having a go at him by suggesting that Yoko would be coming on a day-to-day basis. Heather was his daughter, and having her present mainly eliminated Paul’s baser instincts to pound John into the pavement when he opened his mouth. 

“You don’t mind that I’ve brought her, do you?” He directed his question at George Martin. He’d located the producer in the control booth upon his arrival with Heather, wanting to ensure that her presence was okayed by the man. “If you do, I’ll bring her home.”

“Is she going to take over the recording process?” George Martin asked, his tone one of absolute exhaustion. “I don’t mind if she sits in on the session, Paul, but if she even dreams of behaving in a manner like that horrible woman, so help me, it will be the last time.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “She’s a child. She’s not going to behave like Yoko.” 

Heather had set herself up on a chair in the studio below the control booth, and appeared to be avidly engrossed in her colouring book, which Paul had spent quite the pretty quid on when he’d taken her along with him to replace the pullover jumper he’d ruined the other day. Paul had been taken aback at the cost of both replacing the item of clothing, and the amount of quid that a bloody colouring packet had cost him at Harrods, but he had vowed that the money spent was worth it. George Martin would have a new, no longer marked by Paul’s blood, jumper, and Heather had been delighted to have her choice of art supplies. Paul could just write another song to pay off the bill. 

“Well, it’s not as if Yoko behaves in a manner befitting an adult,” George said in response. He let out a sigh. “That was an unfair comparison,” he said. “She’s welcomed to stay, seeing as she’s managed a better on time record than your fellow bandmates. Perhaps we’ll feature her on the record.”

“Cor, Henry, you know if we do that, John will expect us to treat Yoko’s...contributions to the sessions with similarities. Is that what you want?” 

“Absolutely not,” he said, his lips pinched together, disapproval visible throughout his features. “If you think for a moment that I, or any of you, are going to indulge John’s desire to inflict what that woman considers to be singing, on any of us, let alone on a recording that is going to be inflicted upon the public, you have another thing coming. The double album is one thing. I hold firm on vetoing that _woman’s_ vocal contributions to it.” 

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Paul said, and he slipped a fag out of his pack and lit it. “I want to apologise for me behaviour yesterday.” He felt the tips of his ears redden. “I behaved in a manner that was positively deplorable. I should have known better than to goad John, or to let him get to me.” He took a puff off the cigarette, allowing a plume of smoke to fill the air. “And, I certainly knew better than to physically fight him. You’re right. We aren’t in a pub in Liverpool anymore. It’s not appropriate for us to fight. We have to uphold our reputations.” He sighed, and scratched the side of his face. 

“Look, I’ve replaced your jumper,” he said, and he presented him with the Harrods carrier bag. “I know that it doesn’t change what happened yesterday, but I reckon it could be a start?” He shrugged his shoulders. “At the very least, I’ve spared you a trip to the cleaners?”

George Martin took the bag from his hands, and he pulled the box containing the rather expensive article of clothing out. “I wasn’t expecting you to replace this,” he said, after a moment. “I’d considered it to be a hazard of the job.”  
  
  


“Right,” Paul said. “Well, it shouldn’t have been. We’re musicians, not hooligans.” 

“Look, Paul,” George said, and Paul heard the note of utter resignation in his tone. “I understand why you snapped at John yesterday, and I even admit I understand why you were tempted to hit him. He was behaving boorishly, even if we judge him solely by the base standards that we ascribe to him and not by the standards by which we apply to the rest of society. It was out of line, what he said. Especially those comments he made about you and Heather. He should understand by now that she is your daughter, and I’m not fully certain what aspect of that concept he is not grasping.”  
  
  


“Oh, I reckon he understands,” Paul said, and he ran his hands through his hair. “He just knows that feigning ignorance on the subject is a good way to rile me up when he doesn’t like the tone the conversation has taken.” He sighed. “I just hope he behaves himself ‘round Heather today. I swear to you, if he doesn’t get his act together, I will be out that door, with my daughter, before you get halfway out of this booth.”

It wasn’t an idle threat. Heather was Paul’s priority. If John was going to insist that they give top priority to the utter banshee who shared his bed with him and insisted on posing naked with him on album covers, Paul could extend the same courtesy to his daughter, who had more decorum in her pinkie finger than either Ono or Lennon. 

“I understand,” he said. “Go on, we’ve sorted things here. Go be with your daughter.”

* * *

“Daddy!” Heather squealed, her eyes widened with happiness, and she abandoned her arts and crafts projects that she had been working on in Paul’s absence to climb off the chair and cross the room to give him a hug. “Did Uncle Henry like his new jumper? Why did you give him one? Is it his birthday?”

“No, duck, Daddy accidentally spilt something on the old one. I was worried the stain had set in. It was just easier to buy him a new one.”  
  
  


Paul picked her up and swung her around, and she wrapped her arms around him. “But, yes, duck, he did like the jumper. You’re a sweet girl for asking after him.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

“What have you been working on, darling?” It seemed to him that Heather had been hard at work during his tour of apology, not that she seemed particularly enamoured at the thought of leaving his arms. She had tucked her head against his chest. “You want to show me?”

“I drew you a picture,” she said, after a moment of silence. “I can show you. Do you want to see it?” 

Paul nodded. “I would love to see it,” he assured her. “But I reckon that I can hold you for a mo, if you’d like that.” He’d hold Heather for as long as she wanted him to. “Is that what you would like?”

“Please, Daddy,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Just until I know it’s okay for me to stay.”  
  
  


“It is,” he promised her. “I’ve gotten it sorted. With George Martin. He’s more than willing to have you be our special guest. I promise.” He kissed her again. “I think he liked that we showed up on time.” He smirked. “Everyone else seems to have had a lie in.”  
  
  


She giggled. “Like Thisbe? She sleeps all day, too.”  
  
  


Paul couldn’t help but laugh. The comparison of the cat to the missing Beatles was worryingly accurate. 

“Quite like Thisbe,” he said, once he’d regained composure. “But that’s fine behaviour when you’re a cat. Less so when others are reliant on you.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That makes sense,” she said. “You want them to come to work on time so that you can be home in time for Meet the Wife.” 

Paul chuckled. “Meet the Wife isn’t on anymore,” he told her. “Have you been listening to me recordings again?” 

Heather nodded. “Yes, Mummy said that you met her at your birthday party for Sergeant Pepper,” she informed him. “She was there to take photographs of you.” 

“Not quite a birthday party,” he corrected, his tone gentle. “It’s called a launch party. When records are released, the band and everyone who was involved in making it gets to go celebrate all of the hard work they’ve done. Mummy was there to take photos of us, like she told you, and that’s where we met. That’s where we decided to become friends. I really liked Mummy when I was talking to her that day, and I thought she would be a nice friend to have.” 

“Even though she lived so far away from you?” 

“Of course,” he said. “Mummy and I didn’t mind being pen friends at first, we wrote each other letters and we called each other on the telephone. And we saw each other when our schedules permitted. Eventually we became closer and we fell in love, and we decided that it made sense for both of our jobs to move here, to England, where I live, because Mummy can take photographs wherever she goes. I can’t exactly fly the band out to New York on a whim.”

“Because they’d be late and miss their flights?” Heather questioned; her voice full of innocence. 

“Well, yes that is a factor that I would need to consider,” he agreed. “The real issue is that people recognise us, luv. They know who we are. When we used to go around the world in a group and perform concerts, they wouldn’t let us have a moment to breathe. If it’s just me in New York, I could grow a beard and no one would bat an eye. It’s different here in England. We have people who follow us ‘round, of course, but for the most part, we’re old hat. They just let us be.” 

“I like it here,” she said. “Way more than New York.” 

“You don’t mind the thought of going to visit New York, do you?” 

Heather shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t mind that,” she said. “Just for a holiday, right? Not to live?” 

“Right, just for holiday. I don’t think we’d move back there.” 

“I’d like to go there on holiday,” she said. “I think it would be fun. We could go to Central Park and ride the carousel.” 

“I’d like that,” he told her. “That was fun when we did it. Wasn’t it?” 

She nodded. “So much fun. One of the best days ever.” 

While they had been talking, the door had opened to the recording studio. Paul had heard it, but had paid the sound no mind. He’d assumed that it had been George Martin leaving the studio, perhaps to leave the building entirely and post up ‘missing’ posters along the block. Or another engineer from EMI coming in to set up some equipment. The voice that chimed in was a surprise. 

“What was one of the best days ever?” John questioned. “Yesterday, when you saw Julian?” 

“That was fun,” Heather said. “I meant when Daddy took me to Central Park, before we moved to London, though.” 

“Yeah, well, how did yesterday go?”

“Yesterday went fine, John,” Paul answered. “Nothing for you to worry about.”  
  


“Yeah,” Heather said in agreement. “What do you care? Julian said he never hears from you. Aren’t you his dad?” 

“Heather!” 

“What?”  
  


“I see him often enough,” John said. “He lives with his Mum.” 

“Yes,” Paul agreed, rather hastily. “Spot on, John. Heather, people have different families, luv, you know that, don’t you? Not all kids live with both parents.” 

Heather nodded. “I understand.”  
  
  


“Where have you been?” George Martin demanded from the control booth, his voice echoing through the room. “You were supposed to be here over an hour ago! That’s seventy-eight minutes that we have been waiting for at least one other of you to show up!” 

“I was having a lie-in!” John informed him, speaking into a microphone so he could be heard. “What’s the big deal? Surely you would have sent Paul ‘round looking for us if it was really doing your head in that we were late?”

“You were having a lie-in?” 

“Yeah, you know, a late night. Yoko and I didn’t have to deal with the kids, you know, so we had fun instead.”  
  


“What type of fun were they having, Daddy?” Heather whispered, though, unfortunately for Paul’s sanity, it was loud enough for John to have heard. 

“You really want to know?” John asked. 

“No, she doesn’t bloody well want to know,” Paul said. “God only knows what you’ll tell her. Heather, all you need to know is that they were behaving in an adult manner, and you will understand further when you’re older.” 

“She asked me a question!”

“She’s too young to know what in god’s name you and Yoko spend your evenings doing,” Paul informed him, his tone brokering the utter non-amusement he felt at the turn the conversation had taken. “Actually, every child that we know is too young to know about whatever ‘adult’ things you and Yoko are taking part in.” He let out a sigh. “And, frankly, I might be old enough to understand what you’re saying, and what you two were getting at, but I cannot fathom a time where I would want you to describe what goes on in your bedroom to me in any sort of detail. Do I make myself clear?”  
  


“Crystal,” George Martin said. “John, this is a recording studio. You are not doing an interview with a tawdry magazine. Try to conduct yourself with the slightest bit of decorum.”  
  


“Oh? Maybe I ought to give Mayfair a ring? Offer ‘em up an exclusive tell all?”  
  


“You will be doing no such thing, John Winston Lennon, and so help me if I see that you do, I will--” 

“Cop to reading a dirty mag?” 

“John!” 

“What? She doesn’t know what I’m talkin’ about. You said it yourself, Macca. She’s too young.”  
  


Heather curled herself closer to him, and he shifted his hold on her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He was not going to rise to John’s juvenile attempts at goading him. Regardless of whether or not he was better than that, Heather deserved better than that, and he had no desire to explain whatever acts of perversion or dubious legality John and Yoko had gotten themselves into while Paul had been drinking his way through his liquor cabinet due in a large part to the damage John had been doing to Cynthia for over a decade. He was just grateful that neither child had noticed that there was tension between the three adults. 

“Sod off, Lennon.” 

“You should sing that song you wrote when Julian left,” Heather informed him.

“Oh, no, duck, I don’t think that we’re going to sing that song here,” Paul said, rather hastily. The last thing he wanted was for John to hear the song he had roughly sketched out in a drunken fit of nostalgia that was about his estranged son’s experiences with his parents’ divorce. Paul was willing to toe the line of John’s patience for many things, but he was less than enthused about him hearing ‘Hey Jules’. “That’s one of the songs that we sing at home.”

“But, Daddy, I really liked it!” Heather insisted. 

“Why don’t you play it for us?” George Martin interjected. “Perhaps if we play literally anything the other members of the group will recall that we have a recording session today that they are incredibly late for.” There was a bitter edge to his tone. 

Paul sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Fine. But you have to go down, luv. I’ve got to use the piano, and I need to have both of me hands free to do so. You can sit beside me on the bench, though, if you want.” 

He settled Heather on the carpeted floor, and she made a beeline to the studio room’s piano, and he watched as she sat herself down on the bench, leaving lots of room for him to sit. “Thank you,” he told her. “You’ve been a very good listener today.”

He drew in a deep breath, and he started to play, hoping against all hope that he could get away with only performing the piano version. 

“You don’t want to sing?” Heather gazed up at him, and her lips formed a pout. “Why not, Daddy? You said you would sing for me today.”

Well, Paul thought to himself, that was sorted, then. There was no need to make Heather upset. 

“Of course, I’m going to sing the words,” he told her. “It’s just important to make sure the piano is tuned properly.” 

She grinned. “It sounds pretty to me.” 

Paul drew in a deep breath, and he began to sing. “ _Hey Jules, don’t make it bad, take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart. Then you can start to make it better. Hey Jules, don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin. Then you begin to make it better_.”

He played the piano for a moment, while he caught his breath, collected his thoughts, and contemplated whether John’s silence was meant to be frightening. 

“ _And anytime you feel the pain. Hey Jules, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. For well you know that it's a fool. Who plays it cool. By making his world a little colder. Na-na-na, na, na. Na-na-na, na…_ ”

“Na-na-na-na,” Heather echoed.

“Right, well, that’s the song that I was working on last night,” he said. “It’s not finished, yet, and it’s a bit rough, but I think that it’s serviceable.”

“What do you think, John?” George Martin demanded. 

Paul wondered if he could hide behind the piano. John had remained silent throughout his song, and his expression looked downright contemplative. Paul cringed.

“John?” The producer repeated, and Paul heard the edge to his tone. “Are you listening to me?”

John blinked. “What are you asking me?”

“I was wondering what you thought of Paul’s song.” 

“Oh, right,” John said. “I bloody well think it’s brilliant.” 

“Language,” George Martin said in an admonishing tone. “There is a child present.” 

“It’s fine, George,” Paul said. “Heather’s not going to be sheltered from those words, are you, duck?” 

Heather shook her head, and she climbed up onto his lap. “No, Daddy.” 

“Why do you think the song is ‘bloody brilliant’, to use your particular phrase?” George Martin asked. “Do you have a specific reason?”

John nodded. “Of course, I do. Paul’s clearly written the song about me. He’s encouraging me to have a go of it with Yoko.” 

Paul raised his brows. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Cor, Macca, don’t be coy. It’s right there in the bloody lyrics. When you say that you were made to go out and get her. I know that’s a message to me.” 

“It bloody well is not.” 

“John, the song seems to be about someone named Jules,” George said. “Are you absolutely certain it’s not talking about, say, your son?” 

“Why would Paul be writing a song for Julian? He’s young. He’ll move on.”

“John--” 

“That’s not true,” Heather insisted, and Paul inwardly cringed. “Julian misses you. You’re his dad.”  
  


“It’s fine, Heather,” Paul said, rather hastily. “John can think the song is about him, if that’s how he’s able to sleep at night. The great part about song writing is that people can glean different meanings from the lyrics, even ones that would surprise you. You understand, right?”   
  


“You mean that John thinks that the song is about him?” Heather asked, a hint of disbelief to her tone. Paul nodded. “Is this a grown-up thing that I’m meant to understand when I’m your age?”

“Yes,” he told her. “When you’re older, you’ll understand better.” 

“You promise?” 

“Yeah, duck, I promise. Either you’ll understand, or I’ll explain it to you. Okay?” Paul reached out and ruffled her hair. “You needn’t worry about what John says or does. He’s an adult. He can handle himself. But it’s very sweet that you care about Julian’s feelings. And you’re not in trouble for caring about him. Things are just complicated.” 

“What’s complicated about it, Macca?” John questioned. “Seems pretty simple to me. The relationship hit its expiry date, and I’ve done away with it. She can garnish me wages.”  
  


Paul bit back a sigh. “John. Heather is a child. She is _my_ child. This is an inappropriate conversation to have while she’s present.” 

“Why?” John demanded. “She’s the one who brought him up, isn’t she?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Heather whispered. “I just wanted--”  
  


“Don’t worry about John,” Paul said. “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll mind his mouth. Because I am entirely willing to walk right out that door, right now. If only half the band is here, what’s the point of a recording session?”

“You wouldn’t,” John said. “He’s threatening to quit the band, Henry.”

“It sounds to me that he’s trying to get you to behave in a manner befitting of being around his daughter, John,” George Martin said. “Honestly, I don’t understand you. Why on earth would you speak that way to Heather? Surely you know what you do and don’t say around children of that age? Given that Julian is a mere few months younger than her?” 

“Julian? That’s Cyn’s job. Don’t be daft, Henry.”

“I’m not being daft, John, I’m trying to illustrate why Paul is angry with you.”  
  


“Daddy?” Heather tugged on Paul’s sleeve.

“Yeah, darlin’?” 

“Why does John call him Henry? I thought Mr. Martin’s first name was George?”

“Mr. Martin’s first name is George,” Paul told her. “But we have a George in the band, you see? So, we call Mr. Martin Henry so that we know who’s being spoken to.”  
  
“But the other George isn’t here yet,” she pointed out. 

“I know,” Paul said. “John is just doing it to be juvenile. I wouldn’t mind what he says much.” 

Fortunately for Paul, and the tiny shred of sanity he held dear, the door to the studio opened, and the two missing members of the Beatles walked in. 

“Where have the two of you been?” Paul demanded. “I have been waiting for hours.” 

“What? Heather and John aren’t enough to keep you busy?” George drawled. “Or is the problem that you’ve been waiting with Heather and John, and there’s been no one there to ease your burden?” He bit into a biscuit. “It’s the second one, isn’t it?” 

“Not that we think you’re a burden, Heather,” Ringo added, as he hung up his jacket on the coatrack. “I’m sure you’ve been a delight to have in the studio. Has John decided that you’re getting a song on the album?”

“I don’t want to sing on the album, Uncle Ringo,” Heather said, and she stared at Paul with wide eyes. “Not all by my--meself. It’s too scary. People would laugh at me.”

“I was only teasin’,” Ringo said. “I don’t think Paul would make you sing on your own, though. He’d probably sing with you.” 

She shook her head. “I don’t want to.”  
  


“There will be no guest performers on the record,” George Martin said, though he had come down from the control booth and into the studio, so the effect was less jarring. “Don’t any of you get any ideas.”

“What about Eric?” George said. “I can’t arrange for him to play on me song?” 

“Eric? Eric who?” 

“Clapton,” George said. “He’s offered, given that someone here thinks that my song is more pointless than a lark.” George levelled a glare at John, who took his displeasure as an invitation. 

“Oh, please, you’ve written a song about chocolates, Georgie,” he said, a smirk blooming on his lips. “What better way to describe that than calling it a lark?”

“I want to hear the song, George,” Heather insisted. “I like chocolates. May I have a biscuit?”

“You wrote a song about literally nothing the other day,” George said to John, before he pulled a packet of biscuits out of his pocket. “Yeah, you can, Heather. So long is it’s all right with your dad.”

Heather turned to Paul, a hopeful look in her eyes, and the pout he couldn’t say no to on her lips. “Please, Daddy? May I have a biscuit? Uncle George said I could.” 

“Yeah, you can have a biscuit,” he told her, and he nudged her shoulder. “Go ead, go up to him, it’s all right, luv.”  
  
“He won’t think I’m bothering him?”  
  


“I don’t think that he will,” Paul assured her, and he looked over at George. “You won’t think that, will you, George?”  
  


“Of course not,” he said. “Come ead, Heather. You can have a biscuit, and I’ll play me song for you. Do you want to have a listen?”

Heather climbed off the piano bench and approached George, a cautious, yet curious look on her face. She nodded. “Yes, I want to hear the song. Is Daddy going to play the piano for you?” 

George shook his head, as he held the biscuit out to her. “No, I’m going to play guitar. Do you like the guitar?” 

She took the proffered biscuit, and she nodded. “Uh-huh. We have one at home. Daddy’s let me play with it.”

“What do you say to George?” Paul asked, hoping to prompt her to thank him. 

“Oh! Thank you for the biscuit!”  
  


George smiled. “You’re welcome, Priya.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means darling, in Hindu,” he said, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Do you mind that I’ve called you that?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ve just never heard it before. I want to hear your song.” 

“I think that sounds like a sporting idea,” George Martin said, and he handed George his guitar. “That’s what we’re here for, after all. To make music.” 

“Cor,” George said. “You’re right.” And he started to play. 

“ _Creme tangerine and montelimar. A ginger sling with a pineapple heart. A coffee dessert, yes, you know it's good news. But you'll have to have them all pulled out. After the Savoy truffle. Cool cherry cream, nice apple tart. I feel your taste all the time we're apart. Coconut fudge really blows down those blues. But you'll have to have them all pulled out. After the Savoy truffle. You might not feel it now. But when the pain cuts through. You're going to know and how. The sweat is going to fill your head. When it becomes too much. You'll shout aloud_ ,” George sang, while Paul watched as Heather listened to him attentively, and snapped a few photographs of the sight with his camera. He knew that Linda would want to see. 

“This bit right here,” George said. “This quiet part is where me mate Eric is going to play his guitar for the recording. He’s going to do something that’s called a solo. There won’t be any vocals at all during his bit.”

“I hope that Mr. Martin lets him play with you,” Heather said, her tone one of awe. Paul suspected Heather was giving George some much needed attention. He felt guilty. “What’s next in the song?”

“ _But you'll have to have them all pulled out. After the Savoy truffle. You know that what you eat you are. But what is sweet now turns so sour. We all know obla-dibla-da. But can you show me where you are? Creme tangerine and montelimar. A ginger sling with a pineapple heart. A coffee dessert, yes, you know it's good news. But you'll have to have them all pulled out. After the Savoy truffle. Yes, you'll have to have them all pulled out. After the Savoy truffle_.”

Paul wondered if he was hearing the perceived dig correctly, before he bit back a sigh and reckoned inwardly that he’d probably deserve it. He hadn’t been a very good friend to George lately. Or Ringo, for that matter. He had been so focused on trying to right John’s behaviour back to the straight and narrow that he had neglected his other bandmates. 

“I--”

“It was so nice for you to mention Daddy’s song,” Heather said, her tone sincere. “I like that song a lot. When he sings it at home, he changes the names to his and Mummy’s.” 

“And you like when he does that?” George asked her. “Change the names of the people?”

She nodded. “Yeah. But I like your song, too, Uncle George. It made me hungry.”  
  


“You reckon I ought to keep that bit in, then? The obla-dibla-da bit?”  
  


“Yes,” she said. “I do.” 

George met Paul’s gaze. “Is that fine with you?”  
  


“I don’t mind, George,” he said. “And, for what it’s worth, I like the song. I don’t mind if you bring Eric in to play on your recording of it. I don’t have issue with _seasoned_ musicians being part of the recording process.”  
  
  


“You mean it?” 

“Yeah, George, I mean it. Bring Eric round. It might be good for us.” 

“Mummy knows Eric Clapton,” Heather informed George. “She’s taken his photograph.” 

“I know,” George told her. “Your mummy’s a good photographer. I’ve seen her work.”

Heather nodded, and she grinned. “She’s the best. She’s fab.”

“You’ve been practising your English, I see?” 

“I want to talk like Daddy,” she said. “Am I okay at it?”

“I can hardly tell the difference,” he said. “If I didn’t know you were from New York, I’d think you were a Scouser like the lot of us.”

It had been the right thing for George to say, and Paul was grateful that he had, not that he’d expected him to say something hideous or off-colour in response to her question. He’d been surprised when Heather had decided to pick up an accent when she and Linda had settled into life with him in England, but he hadn’t done anything to discourage her, especially since he suspected that she was young enough that it would have been bound to happen naturally. Heather had been afraid that sounding like an American would have been something else to differentiate herself from her peers, and the thought of that had upset her. Being different because Paul McCartney had claimed her as his daughter was acceptable by Heather, and Paul knew that, but he also knew that her fears that sounding like she was from New York would set her apart from her peers weren’t unfounded. England was a class-based system, after all. Paul knew that. He’d lived it all his life. He didn’t dare risk whatever class a New York accent would have gotten her lumped in with, not if she wasn’t planning on speaking that way. 

“Did you know Daddy when he was my age?” Heather asked.

George shook his head. “No, we became mates when we were a few years older than you,” he said. “We went to school together.”

The answer seemed to satisfy her, as did the second biscuit. 

“We were in a band together,” Paul said. “A whole bunch of us. Called the Quarrymen. It was John’s band. But we were in it together, with some other lads, when we were teenagers. A long time ago.”  
  


“How long?” 

“Oh, I reckon a billion years ago,” he said, a teasing lilt to his tone. “You know Daddy. He’s as old as the dinosaurs.” 

Heather giggled. “You’re not really as old as the dinosaurs, are you?” 

“No, duck, I’m really not. Which is too bloody bad. I think that knowing the dinosaurs would have been brill.” 

“Me too.”

* * *

The excitement of the jam session had exhausted Paul’s daughter, who’d fallen asleep on an easy chair that had been dragged into the studio, but George was mainly glad that the presence of the younger girl had dulled the tension that had been present during many of their sessions, as of late. He knew that it was still there, lingering, but the atmosphere had lightened enough that he no longer felt as if he would leave the session feeling physically ill. It was a pleasant change. 

“I reckon that John and I need to have access to another recording studio,” Richie said, causing George’s hackles to start to rise. They had finally been getting along. Why did the two of them have to cause trouble? “What?”

“We’re meant to be a band,” he said. “Why do the two of you need to sod off to another studio?” 

“Because he wants me to lay down a drumming track?” Richie said. “Heather is sleeping, isn’t she? They’re both having a kip, aren’t they?” He gestured, and George followed his gaze. Paul had allowed Heather to fall asleep on his lap, and it appeared that the bassist had elected to follow suit. “I doubt Paul would take kindly to either of them being woken by me drumming.”

George had to admit that that was a valid point. He really didn’t want to see the result of Paul being woken out of a sound slumber, and he could hear him snoring. 

“Where does that leave me?” George demanded. “Does John not need me to play on his record?” 

“He’s upset about Eric,” Richie said in response. “Leave him be. He’ll have a strop for a few days and get over himself.” 

He opened his mouth to provide a retort, because George didn’t much bloody well care that John was upset at the fact that he had dared to find himself someone who was willing to play guitar on one of his songs without putting up a fight on the subject, but decided that it wasn’t really worth the effort of expending his breath. It was probably better for him to allow John to record with Richie, in peace, and not protest and have him react in a manner that would cause Paul to be angry. He suspected John waking his daughter would do that rather nicely. George didn’t want to wake her, anyways. His anger at Paul and John aside, he had no issues with the little girl. 

He sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. “Fine,” he said. “The two of you can go. Do what you want.”

“Are you sure?” Richie asked. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine, Richie. You’re not the reason that I was upset. I’m going to go to the canteen and get meself a cuppa. When Paul wakes up, I’ll see if he wants me help with anything.” 

“Sounds like a good plan to me, Georgie,” John said, and George snarled as the older man (who was he fooling? John wasn’t even three full years older than him!) had the nerve to lean over and ruffle his hair as he passed. “Maybe you can write a song about the local chippy?”

“John, was that needed?” Richie demanded. “I don’t understand you, Lennon.”

“It’s fine,” George said. “Well, it’s not really fine, but I don’t want to get into it now. Heather is sleeping.”

“So’s Paulie,” John said, a smirk on his lips. “Shouldn’t we wake him? Sleeping through a session like that? Seems like he’s lost his touch, if you ask me.”

“Why don’t you leave him alone?” George demanded. “Perhaps he wouldn’t be bleeding knackered if you hadn’t made him take care of your son _and_ his daughter because you can’t be arsed to man up and act like a proper father?”

“I’d watch your tone, if I were you?”  
  
“Why? Because I agree with Paul? He’s not wrong, you know. How hard could it be to mind Julian? It’s not like he’s old enough to have an opinion.”

“You’d think,” John said, his tone bitter. “Someone’s taught the little sprog to state his mind, and I don’t like the things he’s saying about me. He’s filled his thoughts with lies, you know. Lies about me.” 

George arched a brow, and he leaned back in his seat. “Elaborate,” he said. “What lies has he been saying?” He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, and lit it up. “Well? Go on, then.”

“He’s been led to believe I’m a bad father,” John said. “That I’ve abandoned me family.” 

“Do you not think that there’s some truth to that?” He knew that he was treading in dangerous waters with his line of questioning, but John _had_ to know that he was being bloody ridiculous right now. “Haven’t you? Abandoned your family?”

“I bloody well haven’t,” he protested. “Just because I’ve ended things with Cyn--”

“Yes, see, I can see why Julian _may_ think that you’ve abandoned them. Perhaps Richie can explain to you why your actions continue to have consequences.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you taking the piss?” George said. “Of course it makes sense to Richie that the child needs to be minded. She’s bloody five years old, John. You don’t just leave a child of that age by themselves. She’d be liable to be frightened, or injured, especially in a bloody recording studio. And, even if she was old enough to be left alone with her sleeping father, I’d still rather be with her. At least she likes me music.”
> 
> John rolled his eyes. “You think a five year old’s opinion will give you more songs on the record? You’re lucky we’re doing a double LP.”
> 
> “And we’ll be going now,” Ringo said, and he grabbed John firmly by the arm, and propelled him in the direction of the door. “Sorry, George.”

“Do you think that he might have a point?” John asked Ringo,and George bit back a sigh. Honestly, did John even have to ask if there was a point to be had? He had an independent study of a mixed group of individuals telling him the exact same thing, and George was damned if he wasn’t going to listen to them. If he had to raise his voice to get John to see sense, so be it. “I mean, is it possible?”

“Is what possible?” Ringo said. “That you’ve gone and bollocksed something up? Gee, John, I wonder.” 

“I wonder too,” he said. It was clear that he’d missed their drummer’s sarcastic tone. George pressed a hand to his temple. It wasn’t possible for John to be  _ that _ stupid. It couldn’t be. “I mean, what’s the big deal? Me dad and me mum weren’t together.” 

“Oi,” George said, unable to help himself. “You can’t be serious with that comment. Are you?”   
  


“You  _ know _ me parents weren’t together, George. That’s why me mum gave me those sisters from Twitchy. Me dad pulled a runner.”

“No, that I know,” he said. “I just can’t fathom a world in which you think that  _ you _ are in any way a poster child for how to handle being the product of a broken home. Have you not spent any time with yourself? Ever?”

“Of course I’m the poster child.”   
  


“Right,” he said. “So, you’re okay with Julian ending up like you? Finding solace in illegal substances and in a wildly inappropriate bint you took up with because you were bored one day?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” John said, and George shrugged his shoulders. “Do you have a problem with Yoko?”   
  


“Of course not, John. I enjoy Yoko’s delightful presence.” George definitely did not. But he enjoyed Paul’s reaction to being woken even less. “Go on, now. Do your little session with Richie. I’ll wait for Paul and the lass to wake up.”

Paul let out a loud snore.

“We could always speed up the process?” John suggested, a glint in his eyes. “Some time with those cymbals, there? It would only take a mo.”

“You will do no such thing,” George heard George Martin said, his voice barely above a whisper, and his tone admonishing. “Do you not recall what happened to you in this very room, just yesterday?” 

“Paul hit me,” John supplied. 

“That’s right, Paul hit you. Did you obtain a concussion from that encounter with Paul’s fist?” He continued. John shook his head. “I didn’t think so. Why do you persist in behaving this way? Don’t make me defend Paul’s decision to make your discussion physical.” 

John licked his lips. “Oh, c’mon, Henry. It’s not my fault he’s gotten so sensitive lately. Like he’s a bird during her monthly, or something.”

“John!” 

“What?”

“Do you have to be so crude?” 

“Well, you know, I am from the product of a broken home, Henry.” 

“Now, John.” 

“What? George seems to think it’s the root of me problems. Maybe I reckon it might be.” 

“Just go, the both of you,” George Martin said. “And if you think I’m leaving you and Richard alone in one of our studios, you’re sorely mistaken, John Lennon. I’ll be coming with you.”   
  


“What about them?” John asked, sounding rather outranged. “You’re leaving them be?”   
  


“I trust that George can handle Paul and Heather,” he said. “I doubt they’ll do much damage, even if they wake, unlike you.”   
  


“Unlike me? What the bloody hell did I do?” Ringo asked. It was clear that he’d been ignoring the conversation. George let out a sigh, and held up his hand. “What?”

“He’s talking about John, not you,” he said. “Did you forget to take your bloody uppers this morning? Pay attention to your surroundings.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to come with us?” He asked.

“No, I’ll stay here,” he said. “I don’t mind it. It’s peaceful. If Heather wakes before her da I can make sure she’s properly supervised.” 

Ringo nodded. “That makes sense to me.”   
  


“It does?” John asked. 

“Are you taking the piss?” George said. “Of course it makes sense to Richie that the child needs to be minded. She’s bloody five years old, John. You don’t just leave a child of that age by themselves. She’d be liable to be frightened, or injured, especially in a bloody recording studio. And, even if she was old enough to be left alone with her sleeping father, I’d still rather be with her. At least she likes me music.”

John rolled his eyes. “You think a five year old’s opinion will give you more songs on the record? You’re lucky we’re doing a double LP.”

“And we’ll be going now,” Ringo said, and he grabbed John firmly by the arm, and propelled him in the direction of the door. “Sorry, George.”

“It’s fine, Rich. Not your fault he’s a bleeding wanker.” 

George Martin leveled him with a pointed gaze. “Why do you persist in speaking that way around the child? In my presence? Try to be less colourful with your language. She doesn’t need to pick up  _ every _ inappropriate phrase the lot of you know. What would her mother think?”

“Probably wouldn’t care,” George told him. “She’s worse than we are. You know how those Yanks behave. There’s no sense of propriety over across the pond, Henry. They gave that up when they stopped drinking tea. Haven’t you heard about that war?”

“I--are you talking about the Revolutionary War? Was that all you learnt about that in school?” 

“You know me, never cared much for me formal education. Was going to work with the lights. Was it not about tea?”

George Martin looked rather torn. It was clear that he wanted to educate George about the Revolutionary War, but the voices that they both could hear in the corridor sounded as if they were getting impatient. An impatient John was never a good thing. Especially lately. 

“You need to--read a book,” he said. “I have to deal with that lot.”

“I’ll get right on that,” he said. “Heather’s brought me some reading material.” 

There was a pile of picture books sat on the floor near the chair that she and Paul were camped out on, and implying that he was going to read them was well worth the expression that George Martin wore on his face. 

“I don’t find you very funny,” he said. 

“Aw, Henry, but what if she asks me to?” 

“I know perfectly well that was not what you were implying,” he said. “Honestly, George.”

“Don’t you have to go keep an eye on John? You remember he’s going to be alone with  _ Ringo _ around your precious studio’s sound equipment? Sounds like they’re heading in the direction of the one that was recently updated, you know.”

“What?”

“Is that  _ really _ what you want John to be around while you’re trying to get me to read a book?”

“Oh, heavens, no. I have to -- goodbye, George. Behave yourself!”

George let out a satisfied chuckle as George Martin tore out of the recording studio as if he was on fire, clearly in search of John and Ringo. A fire was a real possibility with an unsupervised John, so the speed was truly in the producer’s best interest. He took a sip of his cup of tea. 

A quiet, childlike, giggle could be heard, the sound echoing throughout the room, and he glanced over at the easy chair. Paul was still soundly asleep, and Heather was still sprawled atop her da, but the little girl had woken, though she was trying her best to hide herself. 

“What’s so funny?” He asked her. “How long have you been awake for?” 

“Mr. Martin,” she supplied, and she gave a wide yawn, content to continue to use Paul’s stomach as her pillow. “Not very long. I can try to go back to sleep?”

“No, it’s fine,” he told her. “I don’t mind that you’re up. I’m here to keep you company.”

“Daddy’s sleeping, though.” She pouted. 

“I know, Heather, but you ought to let him sleep. He’s probably hard a rough week. We’ve been busy at work, and everything.”

George had to admit that he was fond of the little girl. Paul was very protective of Heather, so he’d been surprised to see her at the recording session, but he was glad that he’d brought her. It was nice to have a kid around that wasn’t being exchanged in a perverse game of pass the parcel. 

“I know,” she said, as she curled herself closer against Paul, who remained soundly asleep, but had shifted his hand so that it covered Heather’s back. “Mummy says that he works too hard.” 

“Well, you know, it’s a lot of work, making an album,” he said. “Especially for your dad. He wants us to put forth our best efforts, and sometimes we don’t behave as properly as we should.”

Paul let out a snore. Heather frowned. “Why don’t you behave properly? Isn’t that what grown-ups should do?”    
  


“Well, yes,” he allowed. “Sometimes grown-ups don’t behave as they should, though.”

“You shouldn’t be mean to Daddy,” she said. “He doesn’t like it when everyone’s fighting.” She gave George a baleful expression. “I don’t like it either,” she said. “Yesterday. Julian’s mum came with him and she was angry.” 

“At your Da?” George found that hard to believe. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “There were a lot of loud voices. Her voice  _ and _ Daddy’s. But no one will tell me why.” 

“I don’t think you should worry about that,” he told her. “I think that things will work out how they’re meant to. Like how they worked out for you and your mum, you know, how you got to meet your da and all.” 

“But I never knew my old dad,” she said. “Julian  _ knows _ his. And I don’t know if Daddy and Mummy really had him round so that we could play together. I think that they said that to stop me from asking them questions.” 

“Did you have a good time?” George asked her. “Why don’t you come ead?” He suggested. “I don’t bite, you know. We can have a chat and a cuppa whilst your da’s asleep? Maybe open another packet of biscuits?”   
  


“Are you sure I won’t be bothering you?” 

“You don’t bother me, Heather,” he said. “You’re not a bother. Paul’s like me brother. I want to get to know you. You’re me niece, after all.” 

Paul  _ was _ like George’s brother, even though he was driving him absolutely bloody out of his mind as of late, and it was possible that he had been too hard on him, and by extension, Heather and Linda. It wasn’t their fault that George and Pattie had been rather unsuccessful in starting a family, which was a truth that he had been keeping to himself, rather than having had it put on display for everyone they worked with to know. It was hard for him to separate his feelings on the subject with the reality that it had seemed that Paul had run away from the band and into his latest girlfriend’s arms, having gone across the pond to do so, and had returned to the studio with the news that he had started a family, and pulled out a photograph of himself and Heather as proof. 

George was dreading Pattie’s discovery of Paul’s newfound child. The last thing he wanted was for her to think that Paul’s decision to act as if he had adopted Heather meant that  _ they _ should adopt. It was different for them. He’d stand by his refusals. 

Heather wasn’t a bad child, though. It wasn’t her fault that he had internal conflicts.

“Okay,” she said. “I suppose Daddy probably needs his rest. He was sounding a little grumpy earlier. When I sound like that, Mummy makes me have a kip.” 

He watched her kiss her father on the cheek, and heard Paul murmur contently in response, before she climbed off the chair and headed in his direction. 

“Where did you get the pot of tea?” Heather asked him, as she sat on the amplifier that was next to him. “Can you do magic?” 

“No, pet,” he said. “I can’t do magic. I had it brought up from the canteen. Didn’t reckon that leaving the studio while there was a chance of you waking up would be a good idea.” 

“I like me tea with loads of sugar,” she gushed. “Can I have four cubes?”    
  


“Cor blimey, you sound like your dad, luv. Did he teach you how to make tea?” 

She nodded. “Uh huh, Daddy makes the bestest tea ever. Lots of milk and sugar.” 

“Well, I’ll make you tea like your daddy does,” he said. He ruffled her hair. “You’re a good egg, Heather.” 

“I love you, Uncle George.” Heather offered him a quick smile. 

He smiled back. “Why? Because I bring you biscuits?” 

She shook her head. “No, not only because of the biscuits. You’re nice to me. And you included part of Daddy’s song in your song about the candy.”   
  


“Have you ever had a box of Mackintosh sweets?” George asked her idly, as he handed her a cup of tea. “There you go, luv. Tell me if you like it.” 

“No, I haven’t. Are they good?” She took a sip of the tea. “It’s brilliant. My favourite.”   
  


“You poor child, you’ve been deprived,” he said. “Tell you what, I reckon that Pattie and I can arrange to bring you a box of Good News, okay? Of course, you’d probably have to share with Mum and Dad. Would that be fine?” 

“I don’t mind sharing with them,” she said. “Mummy’s probably not had it either. Who’s Pattie?” 

“Me wife,” he told her. “She doesn’t come round here very often. She works for the high street. She’s a model. We met when we were filming our first picture. Did you know we’ve done films?” 

Heather nodded. “Yes, Daddy, he told me. He said that if I wanted to see the pictures, he’d make arrangements to have them shown all properly, like in cinema.” 

“Ah, well, that’s because he wants you to enjoy yourself,” George assured her. He wondered idly if Paul showing their existent films to Heather and Linda in whatever he deemed to be a ‘proper cinema’ counted as fulfilling that bloody stupid requirement that they had to complete film number three. “Is that something you’d like? Seeing them on the big screen?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Why don’t they play them on the telly?”   
  


George elected not to inform Paul’s daughter that her beloved hero had managed to sour the BBC towards playing the Beatles’ films after the utter debacle that was Magical Mystery Tour. Mainly for his sake. He’d been trying to forget the entire thing. The programme haunted his dreams. 

“The Beeb is for squares,” he settled on. “They’re the establishment. They’d never think of adding our movies to their rota.”

She worried her lip. “That’s not nice. I’ll tell Mr. BBC that he ought to play Daddy’s pictures.”

“You reckon that’ll work?” George arched a brow. Heather nodded. “Well, I don’t see why not, I suppose.” 

She took a bite of the biscuit he’d handed her. “Thank you for sharing them with me, Uncle George.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “You’re a good lass, Heather. I don’t mind sharing me food with you.”

“Where did Uncle John and Uncle Ringo go?” 

“They went into another studio,” he said. “They’re working on a song together. They didn’t want to disturb you or your da.”   
  


“Daddy doesn’t like being woken,” she said, and she nodded in Paul’s direction. “I don’t think he’d much like the sound of the drums being played while he tried to rest.”   
  


“I don’t think you’re wrong,” he told her. “You skiving off school for the day?”

“I’m not going anymore,” she said. “I don’t like it, the kids are mean. They make fun of me for being from America, and then they don’t like that me dad is me dad. I told Mummy and Daddy I wanted to do school at home.” 

“That’s not on,” he told her. “You shouldn’t be made fun of because of where you were born, or because your dad happens to be Paul McCartney of the Beatles.” He shook his head. “Your dad, he loves you so much, Heath. I don’t think that it’s possible to fathom how much he loves you. You know that, right?” 

“I know that he loves me,” she said. “That’s why what they said, it hurt my feelings.”    
  


“I know,” he said. George was feeling guilt about his inaction that he’d indulged in whenever John saw fit to entice Paul into an absolute fit of rage over the child who was sat beside him, not that he particularly wanted to admit to Paul’s five year old that he had been embracing a life of immaturity. “Listen, Heather, people can be cruel. I wouldn’t let them get to you. You really ought to tell an adult, like you told your mum and your dad, if you’re made fun of again. Okay?”

Heather nodded. “Julian made me sad yesterday,” she whispered. 

George really wasn’t very adept with children, and he was half tempted to lob something at Paul and wake him up in order for him to deal with his child, but he wasn’t certain that Heather would continue the line of conversation if Paul was present, so he decided that he was going to press forward. 

“Why did he make you sad?” 

“He told me that he wanted  _ my _ daddy to be  _ his  _ daddy. That he had been there first and Daddy had known him longer and was nicer to him than Uncle John was, and that it wasn’t fair that Yo--yoyo, I think? That Yoyo took his dad away and now Mummy and me have taken Daddy away, too. I didn’t mean to take Daddy away from him. But he’s not his dad. He’s mine. I don’t bl--I don’t care how long Julian’s known him for.” 

“Have you told your dad that?” George presumed the answer was no. 

“I didn’t want to,” she whispered. “I don’t want him to get mad. What if he goes away?”

“Heather,” he said. “You dad, he loves you. He loves you and your mum, so bloody much. I don’t think he’s capable of loving anyone in the way he loves the two of you. I understand that Julian upset you, luv, but you can tell your dad. He’s not going to get mad at you, or go away. I promise. And if you don’t feel that you can tell him yourself, I’ll tell him for you. I’ll be the one who tells him.”

“You’d tell him?” Heather asked. George could see the tears that had threatened to form in her eyes. “Would you?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “I’ll tell him right now, if you want.”

She shook her head, and she sniffled. “No, Uncle George, he’s sleeping.” 

“Wha…?” Paul mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “Darlin’, what is it?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


Paul hadn’t been a father for very long, but he had an innate sense of when Heather needed him, and the sound of her sniffling had woken him from a rather sound sleep. He sat up on the chair and rubbed at his eyes, his exhaustion evident. Heather was sat on the speaker beside George, and a quick glance of his surroundings eliminated the reason he’d  _ thought _ Heather was crying: John Lennon. 

“Come ‘ead, luvvy,” he said, and he motioned for her to come over to him, before recognising that she wasn’t going to leave where she’d sat. He stifled a yawn and stood, padding barefoot across the carpeting. “What’s the matter?”

“She’s upset because Julian wants you to be his dad,” George informed him, and Paul felt a flash of white-hot rage flow through him, before he forced himself to remember that Julian was a child, and George was merely a messenger. “Apparently he decided that that was an appropriate thing to tell her yesterday.”

“Did he?” Paul was unamused. It was one thing for Julian to want that, Paul couldn’t blame him for wanting a better father than he’d been subjected to, it was quite another for Paul to hear that Julian had said that to Heather. “Heath,” he said softly, and he dropped himself down so he was eye level with her. “Duck, I’m not ever going to be Julian’s dad,” he told her. “I promise. You’re me daughter, and you and your mum are stuck with me.” 

“He said that that was our fault,” she sniffled. “That if we hadn’t come from America, you would have married his mum.” 

Paul sighed. “Where did he get an idea like that?” If Cynthia had  _ told _ Julian that Paul had jokingly offered to replace John in their lives, and had implied that it was anything  _ but  _ a simple gesture, he was going to make his displeasure known. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re my daughter, Heather. I love you. I love your mum. I love Julian, too,” he allowed. “But he’s not me son. I love him in a different way.”

“Okay,” she said, after a moment of silence. “I know you’re me dad.” 

It was difficult for Heather to express her emotions sometimes, and Paul knew that. So he wasn’t upset that she had spoken to George about it, and not directly to him. He was just grateful that he had been told at all.

“That’s right,” he promised her. “I’m your dad. That means something to me. Something important.” 

“I know, Daddy.” She sniffled again. “I just--I didn’t want to think of you leaving.”

“I’m not going to leave,” he said. “I promise, Heath. You’re my daughter. I’ll never leave you.”

Paul pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You want to head home?” 

“No,” she said. “I want to stay. With you. You promised.”   
  


“I did promise you that, didn’t I?” 

She nodded, a slight smile being seen through her tears. “You promised me that we’d spend the whole day together. And I want to stay here. I like it here.”

“Well, then, we’ll stay,” he said, and he picked her up so he could sit on the amplifier, and settled her on his lap. He turned to George, who was simply observing them, and occasionally sipping his cup of tea. “Thank you.”   
  


“What are you thanking me for?”

“For staying in here and watching Heather,” he said, and he felt himself flush. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”   
  


“She was asleep, too,” he told him. “It’s fine, Macca. I wasn’t going to insert meself in Richie and John’s session when it was clear that I wasn’t wanted. I reckoned that I could stay here in case Heather woke while you were still sleeping.”   
  


“And I did wake up, Daddy,” she said, as she looped her arms up and around his neck. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, poppet.” He nuzzled her hair. “Why don’t you think you’d be welcomed, George?” 

George rolled his eyes. “John’s having a strop because I dared to bring up Eric playing on me songs,” he said. “Honestly, if I hadn’t said anything, would he have even noticed?” 

“I bloody well doubt it,” Paul muttered. “All he cares about is Yoko. Eric could have paraded around here starkers and he wouldn’t give him the time of day if that bloody tart was here. Whenever she’s around it’s like he’s in an entire other bloody world.”

“Who’s Yoko?” Heather asked. 

Paul sighed. “You’ve met Yoko,” he said. “The Jap bird that John’s dating. She’s got a daughter that’s your age.” 

“Is that her name?” Heather’s eyes were wide. “I thought she was named Yoyo.”

“Well, you know? That’s bloody close enough,” he informed her. “You can call her whatever you want, okay, Heath?”

  
“Anything?” 

“Nothing that will make Mummy mad,” he settled on. “We don’t want to upset her just because we want to get a rise out of Uncle John and his significant other.”

“Okay, Daddy.” She kissed his cheek. “Uncle George said he and Auntie Pattie are going to bring us round a box of Good News.” 

“Did he? Well, I think that’s a perfectly lovely idea.” He smiled at George. “You’re always welcomed to come by. Regardless of whether or not you’ve gotten the Mackintosh.”

“It might be hard on Pattie,” he said, after a moment. “She’s been keen on doing an adoption lately. I keep telling her no.”

“Why do you reckon she wants that?” Paul asked, as he lit a cigarette. “What’s wrong with wanting that?” 

“Well, it’s different for you, mate,” he said. “She thinks that because you’ve decided to make things official, legalwise and everything, I should stop putting my foot down on her plans to adopt a child.”

Paul stuck the smoke in his mouth and stroked Heather’s hair with his free hand. “What Linda and I have decided to do with our child has nothing to do with you and your wife,” he said. “I don’t understand why you’re so against adopting a child, anyways, not that it’s any of my concern. How did Pattie know we were doing that, anyroad?” 

“She had a feature in yesterday’s Daily Mail,” he said, and he shrugged. “Apparently the press has caught wind of the new lady in your life. Seems that your primary school wasn’t properly vetted.” 

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Paul demanded. “Who had a bloody feature in yesterday’s Daily Mail? Your wife? Or my daughter?” 

Heather had seemed to have exhausted herself, and was soundly asleep, curled up against him. 

“Pattie, of course,” George said. “Why would you have thought it was Heather?”

“She hated that primary school,” he said after a moment. “I was afraid they’d done something awful to her.”

“I wouldn’t have been so flippant about it if there was a spread about the girl, mate,” George said after a moment. “I would have told you.” 

“I know,” he said. “Why are you so against adopting?”

“It would be different if Pattie or I already had a child,” he said. “I don’t think I’d mind it then. I just don’t understand why she doesn’t get that I can’t see telling the bloody world that we’re willing to adopt a child would be in any way wise. Can you imagine all of the birds that would get themselves in that situation in the hopes that I would be the father of their child?” George shuddered. “She thinks that I’m barmy, but you know that I’m really not.”

“I understand that,” he said. “I doubt that you’re wrong, but you need to understand what it’s like from Pattie’s side of things. She wants to have a child with you, Geo. I don’t think biology matters to her.” 

“Does it matter to you?” 

Paul shrugged his shoulders. “Only in the sense that it upsets me that Heather’s biological father didn’t want to have anything to do with her, because she’s wonderful. I can’t imagine not having her in my life. She’s amazing.” He lit another cigarette. “To tell you the truth, maybe that’s a blessing. I mean, she’s going to be ours, free and clear. He’s not contesting the request.”

“That’s why I punched John yesterday. I shouldn’t have, but I’m so bloody tired of his cheek.”

“He’s obnoxious,” George agreed, his tone rather dark. “I just wish he would embrace thinking before he spoke on even the smallest of occasions.”

“You know that he’s going to insist on bringing that bint around, right? Seeing as I’ve brought Heather?”

“There’s a vast difference between that woman and Heather,” George said after a moment. “Does he not comprehend that?” 

“No,” Paul said, his tone short. “He doesn’t.” He let out a sigh. “I reckon I ought to head home with Heather,” he said. “I don’t know how long John and Ringo will be, but I don’t dare risk it and have Hurricane Lennon wake her up. Do you want to come ead?”   
  


“What?” George said, sounding rather taken aback. “What about Linda?” 

“Lin won’t mind if you come with us,” he said. “Surely you don’t want to hang around here, playing third wheel to that bloody lot?”

“I really don’t,” he said. “Would you like me to bring Heather’s things?” 

Paul nodded. “Cor. That would be fab.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Heather’s head. Her only response was to snuggle closer. “It’s okay, pet, you don’t need to get up. Daddy will carry ye, luvvy. You rest.”

“You took her to Harrods?” George had been busying himself by picking up the various items that Paul had gotten Heather that day, and he had clearly seen the Harrods carrier bag. “Blimey, mate. That’s a lot of bloody quid you spent.” 

“I had to take her to Harrods,” he said, as he lifted himself and Heather off the amplifier. “I was replacing Henry’s jumper. Bloody hell was that dear.” He shook his head. “And, you know, she’d asked me and I said sure. What’s the harm in spoiling her once in awhile?” 

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Still.”

“I know,” he sighed. “I just couldn’t resist making her happy.” 

“You’re a good dad, Paul,” George said. “I think you make her happy by breathing.”

Heather stirred. “Daddy?” 

“Shush, duck, go back to sleep. Have a kip. It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you.” 

* * *

  
  
  


“I thought you were going to be recording all day?” Linda asked Paul when he walked in the door, carrying their soundly sleeping daughter, and followed by George Harrison. “Are you recording here? What happened? Where are the others?” 

“Who knows what they’re doing,” George told her. “Paul and I got fed up with them, and we came here. Seemed like a more conducive place to Heather taking a nap.”

“I see,” she said. “So they won’t be joining you?” 

“I bloody well hope not,” Paul said. “Well. I don’t care if Ringo shows up, but John is doing me head in. Him and his son.” 

“What? Julian? What did he do?” 

“He’s telling our Heath that he wants me to be his dad, and not hers, and if you think I’m going to put up with that, you’re sorely mistaken.”

Linda shook her head. “Paul, you don’t mean that. Julian is hurting. He’s young.”

“He upset her. She was crying.”   
  


“We’ll talk to her about it,” she said. “You can’t just write him off because of it, Paul.”

“I don’t bloody want to write him off about it,” he said. “I just don’t like that he’s gotten these ideas in his head, that’s all.”

She crossed the room to where he stood, and she gave him a kiss hello. “Look, Paul,” she said. “I get that you don’t like that Julian upset Heather, and I don’t like that either. But he’s a kid whose father can’t be arsed to give him the time of day, and his mum seems ill-equipped to move on from him. Are you really surprised that he’d want you to be his father? At least you’re kind to him.”

“Cynthia’s been putting thoughts in his head,” he said. “I was playing around when I said that I would step into John’s shoes if she wanted me to. I didn’t mean it. She’s like a sister to me. It would be wrong.”

Linda bit back a sigh. Paul had a gigantic heart, and a tendency to not think before he spoke, so she was unsurprised that he’d managed to get himself into that sort of a situation. She was sure that he had felt he was doing so out of the goodness of his heart, not anticipating there would be any sort of consequences. 

“I don’t reckon Cyn really cares about that anymore,” George said. “You know how she can get.”

“I’m just saying that I don’t mind Julian saying things like that,” Paul said, as he adjusted his hold on Heather. “I mind his mother trying to stir up trouble simply because she’s upset that John is moving on from her.” 

“I don’t understand why she’s surprised,” George said. “It’s not like they married because they loved each other. They had to. Brian made them.”

Linda squinted at George in confusion. “What? What do you mean, Brian made them?” 

“Cyn was pregnant,” he said, as he brought a cigarette to his lips. “It was what was right, what was proper, wasn’t it, Paul?” 

“Brian may have been...somewhat over-involved in John and Cynthia’s marriage, yes,” Paul said after a moment, as he tucked his chin atop Heather’s hair. “And thank the bloody god and queen he was, given how incapable John proved to be one he’d bit it. Playing house with that sort of woman…” 

“If you ask me, I think Cyn’s better off,” George said. “Bloody useless wanker, John is. He’s a sod.”

Linda blinked. She’d never heard George to be so profane before. Truthfully, she hadn’t really heard George say much of anything at all. 

“Did John upset you?” She ventured to ask. “George?” 

“Course he did, he’s a bloody prick.” 

“Look, at least Henry said that Eric could be on the recording,” Paul interjected, as he stuck a cigarette in his mouth with his free hand. “Is it all right if I put Heath to bed, Lin? I don’t think that she’s going to wake up any time soon. I think she’s knackered.”   
  


As if on cue, Heather let out a snore. 

“Of course it’s all right,” she assured him. “Go on, you put her to bed, and you can come back out and join us.” 

She leaned over and pressed a kiss to Heather’s head, followed by a kiss to Paul’s lips. “Don’t be too long?” 

“I shan’t be, luv, not if she doesn’t wake.” 

It wasn’t that Linda was nervous about being around George. She truly wasn’t. He was Paul’s friend, and they worked together, and she had met him before. It was just a bit strange having him in the house. Not that many of Paul’s friends had been coming around much lately. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“I reckon I’m sorted,” George said. “I’ve had me tea and me biscuits.” 

“Paul says you’re a vegetarian,” she continued. “I’ve got some pasta that I can heat up. Surely you’d want more than a packet of biscuits?”

“Paul told you that?” He arched a brow. “I don’t want to put the two of you out, eating your food.”

“No one’s putting anyone out,” she told him. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to share with you.”   
  


“Is he really adopting her?” George asked. “Heather?”   
  


“Yes,” she said. “He really is.” 

“Right,” he said. “He really cares for her, you know. The both of you.”

“I know.” Linda did know that Paul cared about her and Heather. She didn’t need George to tell her that, but she appreciated it nonetheless. “What’d you get at Harrods?” 

He glanced down at the carrier bags in his hand. “Oh, these aren’t mine, they’re Paul’s. He’s bought them for Heather. I just brought them along so he wouldn’t have to return for them.” He sighed. “What a bloody mess.”   
  


“The recording session?” Linda chanced to ask, as she turned on the stove so she could re-heat the pasta that had been left over from their dinner the night before. Regardless of whether George indulged in it, the fact was that she and Paul needed to eat. It wouldn’t be fair to eat something that George couldn’t have. “Was Yoko there, corrupting my daughter?”

“John does a bang up job of that on his own,” George told her. “No, she wasn’t there. But she’s merely a symbol of the problems, you know what I mean?”

Linda nodded. She did indeed. “I know, George,” she sighed. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t think I bloody know that?” John exclaimed. “Cyn and I couldn’t be arsed to use bloody rubbers, and it bit me in the arse, and of course Brian found out and ensured that we deal with things properly. You know that I didn’t want to be a father. Paul says all the time that I was bloody well ill-prepared. Julian knows it, Cyn knows it, the whole bloody world can tell. But now all of a sudden I’m expected to be something that I’m not?” 
> 
> “I think that would be refreshing,” Ringo said. John whirled around in his direction, his fists clenched. “What? It’s a new era for you, mate. A new Lennon, if you will.” 
> 
> “I’ve picked the new Lennon,” John said. “It doesn’t involve faffing about with me ex-wife and me sprog, all right? Cyn can fob him off on Macca, you know?” 

“Everything all right in here?” Paul asked Linda and George, who at least seemed to be getting along better than anyone had been at the recording studio. Heather had woken briefly but had soothed back to sleep with a brief cuddle and the presence of Martha, who had acceded to the child’s wishes and climbed onto her bed to curl up beside her. Paul had taken the opportunity to change from his clothes that he’d worn to the studio into something slightly more comfortable. “Two of you getting on?” He came up to where Linda stood and wrapped his arms around her, practically craving physical contact. 

“Everything’s fine, luv,” she said, and she grinned up at him. “George and I have just been talking about your recording session. Did Heather go down all right?” 

“Yeah, she went down perfectly,” he told her. “I think it’s been a long couple of days for her, you know? Probably a long few weeks.” He sighed. 

“We made a mistake sending her to that school,” she told him. “Don’t blame yourself, though. It’s not your fault that the other children were cruel.”

“Isn’t it, though? I’m the one who’s the bloody Beatle.”

“I know, Paul, but those children probably thought that she was making it up,” Linda said. “I’m sure that they found it hard to believe that someone their age was claiming to be your daughter, given the fact that it’s pretty clear you’ve never had a child.”

“Until now.”   
  


“She’s just saying that that’s probably a hard concept for the little shites to understand,” George interjected. “You know how hard it is to get the big child to listen. Imagine how hard it is to get an actual  _ child _ to listen.”

“Big child? Who’s he talking about?”    
  


Paul smirked. “He’s talking about John, luv. The biggest child we know.” 

“What’s he done now?” Linda asked, as she stirred the pot on the stove. “Do you want to be a help?” 

“Just acting like he’s above us all,” Paul said, and he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Lin. Whatever you need.” He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, and relinquished his hold on her. 

“Do you reckon you could make garlic bread?” 

“Cor, of course I can,” he said. He quirked a grin at her. 

“Is there anything you want me to help with?” George asked. 

“You could always mix us a drink,” Paul offered. Linda smacked him lightly on the shoulder. “But, mate, you’re our guest. You shouldn’t be lifting a finger.”

“I don’t mind, really,” he said. “I know that you weren’t expecting to have a guest for lunch.” 

“Well, to tell you the truth, I wasn’t expecting Paul to be here for lunch, either,” Linda pointed out, her tone light. “You’re really not an imposition, George. I suppose that you can get the drinks, and the hash, if you’re really needing something to do.” 

“Me hash?” George asked. “Or are the two of you sorted?”   
  


“We’ve got some,” he said. “It’s in the container atop me piano.” He busied himself preparing the garlic bread, buttering it and liberally adding garlic to it, though he did leave a couple pieces aside for Heather. He didn’t know if she would eat them, but he didn’t want to traumatise her palate if she did. “In the front parlour,” he added. 

“I thought we were skint?” Linda asked. “Yesterday, you said that we didn’t have any. Did you get some?”   
  


“Yesterday? Oh, that was because I didn’t much feel like sharing with Cyn,” Paul admitted. “I thought it was bloody cheeky of her to come round and start demanding things like that. She was always taking the piss out of John for doing hash, and god forbid he did anything more extreme…” He rolled his eyes as he trailed off. “I don’t know what she was playing at when she asked yesterday, and I don’t care to find out.”

“I think that she’s going through a hard time,” Linda said. 

“You don’t think I know that?” He asked, as he slid the bread into the oven, and turned it on. “I understand that she’s going through it, luv, and I’m trying to be as sympathetic as I can, but at the same time, I can’t exactly think she’s not set herself up for these issues.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?” Paul asked. “You would think that she was absolutely incapable of doing anything for herself, based on last night, wouldn’t you?” George had returned, a freshly rolled joint for each of them in his hand. “Thanks, mate.” 

“Is she qualified for anything?” Linda asked. 

“Does she need to be qualified?” George asked, as he sparked up his joint, and passed the lighter to Paul. “She’s the wife of a Beatle.” 

“I reckon she’s the one who’s planted those articles,” Paul said. “Worth a pretty penny, those are.” He lit his joint, and then Linda’s. “John said that he did, but it’s not his style, I reckon.” 

“You think she’d say those horrible things about herself?” Linda seemed taken aback. “Why would she?” 

“Money, my dear.” 

George shook his head. “I don’t think anyone is surprised that he’s left her. He always talks about how Julian was the product of a lack of a condom, and a bottle of drink, and how he married her because it was what was done.” 

“Brian wouldn’t have stood for John not marrying her,” Paul added. “He was concerned about what our image would look like if John had a wife, but he knew how terrible it would look if John’d up and abandoned the bird he’d gotten up the duff.” 

“It’s what you did,” she said in agreement. He reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s what I did. I don’t judge her for that.”

“No, I don’t judge her for that,” he assured her. “I don’t think that getting married because you have a kid on the way is something that’s meant to be judged, because it’s not.” He took a hit off the joint. “It’s how they’re both acting now that I’m judging. It shouldn’t be that hard for them to behave like adults.”

“Especially given how John feels about his childhood,” George added. “Well, when you think about it, it’s not a real wonder he’s screwed up, is it? Abandoned by both his mum and his dad, raised by his aunt...didn’t even realise his mum was alive until his uncle died, isn’t it?” 

“How long are we going to let him use that as an excuse?” 

“An excuse for what?” Linda asked. 

“Everything,” Paul exclaimed. “I’m sorry that his mum died, but so did mine, and you don’t see it making me incapable of behaving like a proper individual, do you? And it’s not like he makes any effort to do better. I heard him,” he told George. “Earlier today, when the lot of you were discussing why you were staying with Heather and me?”

“He told us that he didn’t understand why I thought Paul would appreciate a set of eyes to remain in case Heather woke up while he was having a kip,” George elaborated. “Or, forgetting about Paul, why it was dangerous to leave her alone in a recording studio.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” Linda said, as she stirred the pasta. “He  _ has _ a child.”   
  


“It’s not like John ever saw him when they were married,” George said. “They may have lived together, but Kenwood’s a big place. John had his wing, Cyn had hers. She’s the mother. Caring for Julian was the woman’s work. At least, that’s what John thinks.” 

“John was never much for hands on child minding,” Paul told her. “And he’d certainly never have brought Julian to a recording session. If he’d had it his way, keeping Cyn and Jules hidden like Brian had wanted would have been fine with him. I think he was actually upset that they were allowed to drop the charade.” 

“That’s terrible.”   
  


“Yeah, he’s not like Paul, you know,” George continued. “Paul really loves Heather. You can tell he wants to spend time with her, be there for her. It’s refreshing, really. I’ve never seen that sort of behaviour from John. He’s always been very unsure about what to do with Julian, acting like he’s been given a bomb to diffuse and not a child.” 

Paul felt himself flush. He wasn’t really used to being the centre of attention, at least, not when it came to his parenting skills. He was somewhat embarrassed by the whole thing. 

“I don’t think that John’s ever really known how to be a dad,” he said, after a moment. “I’m not trying to criticise him. I think it’s the truth. To compare the two of us, it’s an unfair comparison.”

“Why? Because you’ve managed to grasp the concept?”    
  


“Because,” Paul said, and he ran his hand through his hair, hesitating on what he was about to say, before he licked his lips, exhaled loudly, and decided to go for it. “Well, it’s not a bloody secret that he didn’t want to be a father,” he said. “He wasn’t entirely broken up when Cyn thought she was losing the baby.” He took another drag. “By contrast, I want nothing more than to be allowed to continue in my position as Heather’s father. If that makes it seem like I’ve come by it more naturally than John, well, I can’t help that.” 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Linda told him. “I think that you’re a good dad to her.” She squeezed his arm. “She really loves you, Paul. So do I.”

“Yeah, well, you know I love you too,” he whispered, and he leaned in for a kiss. Their lips brushed together, and he smoothed a stray lock of her hair back from her forehead. “I wrote you a song, you know.”

“What? You didn’t have to do that.” 

He quirked a grin at her. “Cor, Lin, you think I don’t know that? I did it cos I love you. You want to give it a listen?” She nodded, and he ducked his head to kiss her again. “You don’t mind, do you, George?”   
  


“Why would I mind? If Heather wakes, it’d be like we have a new version of the bloody band.” 

George may have been joking. Paul could never quite tell with him lately. 

He picked up a guitar that he’d shoved away in the corner of the kitchen, and he opened the case, adjusting the strings before he slipped it over his shoulder. He gave an experimental strum. “Uh, well, this one’s going to be on the new record, and I’ve called it ‘I Will’. They’re going to bill it as Lennon-McCartney, but, so you know, it’s all me.” 

“ _ Who knows how long I've loved you, you know I love you still. Will I wait a lonely lifetime? If you want me to, I will. For if I ever saw you, I didn't catch your name. But it never really mattered, I will always feel the same. Love you forever and forever, love you with all my heart. Love you whenever we're together, love you when we're apart. And when at last I find you, Your song will fill the air, sing it loud so I can hear you, make it easy to be near you. For the things you do endear you to me. You know I will. I will _ .” 

“Well? What do you think?” Paul could admit that he was nervous. He had written songs about birds before, about Dot, and then Jane, but he’d never been so bold as to admit it, and he hadn’t been certain that he was going to admit it to Linda, but, well, it had seemed right to. If they were going to be serious enough to have him adopt their daughter, she could bloody well know he’d written a song about her. “You like it, Lin?”

“I think it’s brilliant,” she told him, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That’s the second song anyone’s wrote about me.” 

“The second?” George interjected. “What was the first? Paul’s song about Martha?”   
  


“Sod off about me song about Martha,” Paul said, taking great care to appear as if the joking lilt to his tone was genuine. “I write about me dog, you write about Good News. And we’ve got it sorted.”

“To answer your question,” Linda said, as she returned her attention to her cooking. “No, my father had a song written about me, a long time ago. I much rather prefer Paul’s.”

“Ta, luv.” He squeezed her shoulders. “You reckon we ought to wake Heath? She might be hungry?”

“I’m not certain that you have to wake her,” Linda said, and Paul became aware of the presence of approaching feet, both of the human and canine variety. “Hi, luvvy,” Linda cooed. Heather stood in the entranceway to the kitchen, looking as if she’d just been woken. “Have you finished your kip?”

Heather nodded. “I thought I heard Daddy singing,” she said in response. “So I woke up.”

“I was singing,” Paul told her, as he took off the guitar and set it aside. “Was singing Mummy a song I wrote for her.” He crossed the room to where she stood, and he scooped her up. “And I’ll sing more for you later, okay? We’ve got to eat now.” 

“Can I sit with you?” 

“With me? Or next to me?” 

“I want to sit on your lap,” she said, and she eyed George for a moment, before laying her head on his shoulder. “Please?”

“Are you feeling shy, duck? Because you just woke up?”

“Uh-huh,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. Paul decided to take pity on her. “Please?” 

“Course you can,” he said. “Never going to say no to eating a meal with you, okay?”

“What are we having?” 

“Mummy’s cooked up the pasta from the other evening,” he told her. “And I’ve made some garlic bread. I made some special for you, okay?” 

She nodded. “Is recording done for the day?” 

“Yeah, Mr. Martin let us go home,” Paul said, lying through his teeth. “It’s okay, duck. We’ll record more another day.” 

“You didn’t go home because of me, did you?” 

“No, of course not,” George said. “We just weren’t needed anymore. Didn’t see the point of staying around.” 

Heather lapsed into silence, seemingly to consider this. “Where are Uncle Ringo and Uncle John?”   
  


“They didn’t come round,” he told her. “They were still working.” 

“Are they going to come round soon?” 

Paul sighed. “I can’t say for certain,” he said. “Things are complicated.” 

“But they’re your friends,” she whispered, before she gave him a kiss. In spite of himself, he smiled. “Don’t they want to come by?” 

“I reckon I could ask them,” he said after a moment of thought. “I suppose that it would be the right thing to do. If your mum is okay with me inviting them to come ‘round, of course.”

“I don’t mind, Paul,” Linda said, and she gave him a knowing look. “Nice try, though.”

“I--”

“I’m hungry,” Heather informed him. “Can we eat?” 

“Course we can,” he said. “What do you want to drink with your pasta?” 

“Some bourbon!” George told him cheerfully. “Oh, you weren’t asking me?” 

“No, George, but it’s noted,” he said. “What about you, Heath? You want some milk?” 

She nodded. “Milk’s me favourite.” 

“I know, pet,” he assured her, as he shifted his hold on her so that he could open the refrigerator, and grabbed the container of milk. “I think we’ll both have a glass.” 

“You don’t want what Uncle George wants?” 

“Maybe later,” he allowed. “Right now, though, I’m fine with milk.” He crossed the room and placed the bottle of milk on the table. “You want to get down so that I can help Mummy get the table sorted?” 

She shook her head, her arms coming up to curl around his neck. “I don’t want to, Daddy.” 

“Heather, I--”

“Don’t worry about it,” George said, and he rose from where he’d been sat. “I’ll help Linda get things sorted. Why don’t you just relax with Heather? It’s obvious that she missed you.” 

Paul wanted to protest. George was their guest, and he and Linda were fully capable of being consummate hosts. At the same time, though, he had to consider Heather, and it was clear that the events of the last few days had left her out of sorts. So he shrugged his shoulders as best he could, and let George help Linda with sorting out getting the lunch prepared. He sat down. 

“There, luv, is that all right?” Paul asked her, once he’d settled himself down as comfortably as he could, and Heather had relinquished the chokehold she’d had on him, and conceded to sit down, though she was sat so that she could face him. “I’m sorry that you’ve had a rough go of it these last few days.”

“It’s okay, Daddy,” she said, her tone dutiful. “I feel better now.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Daddy just wants you to be happy, you know?”

“I know.” 

“Yeah, luvvy, I know that you know,” he said. He heard the click of Linda’s camera. “Mummy’s taking pictures of us, you know that?” 

Heather nodded. “I like when she takes pictures.”

“So do I,” he told her. “Especially when she takes pictures of me and you.” 

“Why, Daddy?” 

“Cause, luv, we’re a family,” he said. “I love having pictures of me and me daughter.” 

If Paul and Linda were finished with their family after Heather, he would be the happiest man alive. Oh, sure, he wanted to have more children, but if Heather was their only one, that would be okay, too. He loved that little girl more than anything else in the world, and even though he hadn’t known her for long, it was like she’d slotted into the gaping wound that was part of his heart, and filled him. Well, she and her mother, both. He knew that it was cliched, but he really couldn’t imagine his life without them. 

But, he was sure that she’d be a brilliant big sister, and he wanted to give her that opportunity, once the time was right for them. He knew it wasn’t quite right, yet, no matter how much he wanted it to be. Adding to their family was a big step, though, and unlike some people he knew, Paul intended to treat it with gravitas. 

Right now, though, there was food to be had. He was somewhat stoned, so he was starving, but he would have devoured Linda’s food nonetheless. There was something he loved about a home cooked meal. 

George placed two bowls down on the table in front of them, and Paul offered him a friendly smile. Tensions had been rather strained between the four of them lately, and he was frankly stunned that he’d decided to accompany Paul and Heather back to Cavendish Street, but he was glad that he had done so. It had been a pleasant afternoon. 

“Is Auntie Pattie coming over?” Heather asked. “With the box of chocolates?”   
  


“Heather!” Linda chastised. “We don’t demand things of people.” 

“I reckon it’s Uncle George who’ll buy the box of sweets for you, anyways, luv,” Paul said, as he shifted Heather on his lap so that she could eat. “I don’t particularly see Auntie Pattie as being the type of person that buys a Good News.”

“You’re not wrong,” George said, as he took his seat. “Looks good, Linda.” 

“Thank you, George,” she said, as she sat down next to him and Heather. “Thank you for joining us. It was a pleasant surprise.” 

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Thanks, mate. Why don’t we all tuck in?”

* * *

  
  
  


“What do you mean, they gone?” George Martin demanded of John, who had the audacity to look bored. “Are you having me on, Lennon?” 

“They’re not in there, Henry,” he said, and he popped the gum he was chewing for emphasis. “Paulie probably had to go home to the ball and chain.”

“See, John, that attitude is probably why half off the band has walked out on me,” George said, his tone unamused. He was getting a headache, and he had next to no desire to explain to John why his comments were offensive to others, for what felt like the millionth time. Partly because it was tiresome, having to deal with the same exact conversation, about the same exact thing, and equally due to the fact that he’d put good money on John playing the fool and knowing precisely well where he’d bollocksed up. “Do you think that your comments are humourous?” 

“Oh, come off it, Henry,” he said. “Paul can’t take a joke anymore. He thinks that he’s above us all. The way he speaks about me…”

“John--”   
  


“I mean, who gives a bloody care what the kid does? I sure as hell don’t.”

“He’s your son!”   
  


“You don’t think I bloody know that?” John exclaimed. “Cyn and I couldn’t be arsed to use bloody rubbers, and it bit me in the arse, and of course Brian found out and ensured that we deal with things properly. You know that I didn’t want to be a father. Paul says all the time that I was bloody well ill-prepared. Julian knows it, Cyn knows it, the whole bloody world can tell. But now all of a sudden I’m expected to be something that I’m not?” 

“I think that would be refreshing,” Ringo said. John whirled around in his direction, his fists clenched. “What? It’s a new era for you, mate. A new Lennon, if you will.” 

“I’ve picked the new Lennon,” John said. “It doesn’t involve faffing about with me ex-wife and me sprog, all right? Cyn can fob him off on Macca, you know?” 

“That’s a fine attitude to have,” George said. 

“She’s in a bloody snit because he’s landed himself a new bird,” he drawled. “I reckon she’d thought she’d snag him.” 

“Don’t be daft,” he said. “Why on earth--”   
  


“Why on earth what?” 

“I cannot believe you are seriously trying to tell me that you think your ex-wife had romantic intentions to your best friend,” he told him. “John, that is an absolutely baseless, unfounded, accusation, and the fact that you actually think that shows me nothing good for your character.” 

“Baseless? Hah,” John said, and he let out a bitter laugh. “No, I don’t bloody well think Paul would have gone for her, but she actually thought that his pity meant that she had a chance. She’s been complaining about not seeing the bloody difference between her and the American bird--”

“Her name is Linda, John, and you know that--”   
  


“Your bloody well right, I do, but I don’t have to call her by her name, now, do I? She’s the most hated woman in Britain. All the birds are upset that she’s stolen their Macca.” He rolled his eyes. “Cyn kept carrying on and on about how she didn’t bloody see what the difference was between her and Linda, and I was quite glad to clear the subject up.”   
  


“Pray tell, how did you do that?” George Martin had a feeling that he would regret asking. “Care to elaborate, John?” 

“All I did was remind Cynthia of her place in our world,” he said. “That place being the hell away from me. If Paul wants to subject us all to that Upper East Side bint and her bastard of a daughter, I am more than willing to let him do so, so long as that means that he’s distracted from me ex-wife and me child.” 

“That’s all you did?” 

“Well, and I reminded her that she was damaged goods,” he said, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Shouldn’t have gotten married to me if she wanted to maintain a life when our time ran out.” 

George gaped. He was honestly speechless. John took his silence as an invitation to continue to speak. 

“Why are you so surprised, Henry? Haven’t you listened to Getting Better?” 

“I--”

“I used to be cruel to my woman? I beat her, and kept her apart from the things that she loved? Ring a bell?” John licked his lips. “Wasn’t sending people on a bloody lark with that, you know?” 

“Are you telling me that you hit--”   
  


“Look, Henry, you wouldn’t understand,” he said. “We’re Scousers. What else was I meant to do to keep her in line?” 

He drew in a deep breath, and attempted to centre himself. He reminded himself that it would do him no good to lecture John on why it was wrong to both physically abuse his wife, and then write a  _ song _ about it, given that John and Cynthia were no longer together, and there were so many more pertinent things that John needed lecturing over. Lecturing John about having hit Cynthia might have soothed his soul, but it would have done nothing good for his current predicament. He needed to determine whether or not Paul and George had actually gone off and quit the band. 

“Ringo,” he said, and he offered the drummer a beatific smile. “Would you mind going round to Paul’s and seeing if he’s in?”

“Oi, why are you askin’ him to?” John demanded. “What about me?” 

He smiled serenely at John. “Because, John, while Ringo is away, you and I are going to have a little chat. Again.” 

“About what?” 

“Honestly?” George said. “I don’t know where to begin.” 

“I’ll go round to Paul’s and have a look,” Ringo said, looking rather grateful to be missing the earful that John was surely about to get. “If George isn’t there, I’ll swing ‘round to Esher.” 

“Thank you,” he told him. “I appreciate you doing that.” 

“I appreciate the opportunity,” he said. “Do we need to come back?” 

“I just want to know if they’re still in the band,” he said. “I don’t think anyone needs to return.” 

“Maybe we ought to finish the record in separate groups,” Ringo mused out loud. “I know that that’s not a particularly sporting suggestion, but you do like having a completed record, yes?”

He nodded. “That’s very true,” he agreed. 

“Something to think about,” he said. “I’ll be off.” 

He nodded. “Right, go on, then.” 

* * *

  
  
  


A girlish giggle could be heard through Paul’s intercom system, and Ringo prayed that it was little Heather making the sound, and not him being inadvertently privy to a taste of Paul’s private life. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Hullo?” He directed into the speaker. “Is anyone there?” 

“Depends who’s asking,” Heather said in reply, and he breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Ask them who it is,” he heard Paul say in the background. “Go ahead, Hettie, it’s all right.” 

“Who is it?” Heather sounded shockingly confident, and he suspected that was due to the fact that she was with Paul, and not actually face to face with anyone. “Hullo?” 

“Sorry, Heather,” he said, rather hastily. “It’s me.” 

She giggled. “Me? Who’s me? That’s a funny name.” 

“It’s Ringo,” he clarified. It had been foolish to expect the little one to identify him on his voice alone. They hadn’t spent that much time together.

“Hi, Uncle Ringo,” she said. “It’s Uncle Ringo, Daddy. Are we here?” 

“I suppose that we ought to be,” he heard Paul say in the background. “What do you say, pet? Do you want to see Uncle Ringo?” 

“Yes,” he heard her say to Paul. “It’s too bad he missed Uncle George.”

“Well, go on,” Paul said. “You tell Uncle Ringo that we’re home, and then you can buzz him in.” 

“You don’t want to?” Heather asked. 

“Do you want me to? I think you can do it, luv. I’ll be right here the whole time.” 

“You promise that you’ll be here?”   
  


“Yeah, Hettie, I promise.” 

“If you promise,” she whispered. “I love you, Daddy.” Ringo heard her draw in a deep breath. “Uncle Ringo?”    
  


“Yes, luv?” 

“Daddy said that I can tell you that we’re home,” she said, her voice slow and deliberate. “And, that, he reckons you can be buzzed in if you want. Is it only you?” 

“Yeah, it’s only me,” he said. “That all right?” 

There was a rustling on the other end. “He can’t hear you, pet, you’ve got to speak,” Paul said. 

“I guess,” she said, after a moment. “I wanted to see the baby.”   
  


“Tell you what,” Ringo told her. “I’ll bring him and Zak ‘round sometime soon, and you can see them. But, for now, do you want to let me in?”

“Yeah,” she said. “How do I do it, Daddy?” 

“Like so,” he heard Paul say. “Press this button, here, okay?” The buzzer sounded, and Ringo opened the door with a practiced ease. 

“Hullo, Heather,” he said, and he smiled down at the girl, who was holding fast to her father’s hand, and staring up at him with a sense of awe. “You’ve taken to answering the door?” 

She nodded. “Yes, Daddy lets me.” 

“Hullo, Uncle Ringo,” Paul said, and there was an edge to his tone. “What brings you here, on this fine day?” 

Ringo sighed. “I was offered an out,” he admitted. “Henry is giving John another lecture, and I was sent off to figure out where you and George had swanned off to, and to see if you were still in the band.” He rolled his eyes. “I really only did it to get out of there,” he admitted. “I’m not going to force you back.”

“I haven’t bloody quit the band,” Paul said. “George and I came here because we weren’t needed in the studio, and because Heather was still asleep, and I didn’t want John to wake her, as he’s wont to do.” Ringo watched as he moved his hand so that he could stroke Heather’s hair, seemingly out of sheer habit. “You ought to tell Henry that I want to know what the point is of us needing to be at the studio if we’re not going to play music together.”   
  


“I--”

“Do you want to see Thisbe, Uncle Ringo?” Heather asked. “Can I bring him to meet her, Daddy?” 

“Of course, Heath,” he said. “I’m sure Uncle Ringo would love to meet her. Wouldn’t you, mate?” 

“Who’s Thisbe?” Ringo knew perfectly well that Thisbe was Paul’s cat. He also knew it was important that Heather show him the kitty. 

“Me moggy,” she told him, and she held out her free hand, still clinging tightly to Paul’s. “Daddy, will you come with us?” 

“Sure,” Paul said. “Give Daddy a second to light up a ciggie, okay, luv?”   
  


She nodded. “Okay.” She relinquished her hold on his hand. “How is Jason? Does he talk yet?” 

“No,” Ringo told her. “He’s still too young.”

“That’s too bad.” 

“I’m sure that he’ll talk soon,” he told her. “It’s normal, you know, for babies.” 

“He’s the only baby I’ve ever been around,” she said. “I’m not sure what’s normal, and what isn’t.” 

“No plans to make you a big sister, are there?” 

Heather’s eyes lit up. Paul gave him a pointed look. Ringo felt as if he’d possibly overstepped.

“Is Mummy having a baby?” Heather asked Paul, the happiness evident in her tone. “Daddy? Is she?” 

“No, she’s not,” Paul said, his face an impressive shade of red. “Sorry, luv, no one’s having a baby here.” 

“Oh, that makes me sad,” she said. “I’d like that. Being a big sister.”

“When the time is right,” Paul said to her. “Mummy and I would like nothing more. The time’s not right quite yet,” he continued. “We want to make sure that everything’s sorted before we add to our family. And I’m still learning how to be your dad, you know? I don’t want to mess things up.”

“I think you’re the best daddy.”

“Oh, luv, I know that you do,” he whispered. “I know.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ringo felt the need to say. “I overstepped me boundaries, I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Paul agreed. “But, you know, it’s sorted. I’m not angry with you. It’s good to hear that Hettie would be okay with a younger sibling.”

“I would be,” she insisted. “I take good care of Thisbe and Martha, don’t I?”

“Cor, luv, you do take good care of Thisbe and Martha,” he said. “I think that you would be a brilliant sister, it’s just not going to happen right now, you understand, right?” 

“I understand,” she said. “Can I still see Uncle Ringo’s baby?” 

“That’s up to Uncle Ringo,” Paul said. “I don’t reckon that it would be a problem, though. Would it?”

Ringo sensed that it was his cue. “No, of course it won’t be a problem,” he said. “I don’t think Mo’d mind.” 

“Okay,” Heather said, accepting the answer, and she squeezed his hand tightly, reclaiming her hold on Paul’s. “Thank you, Uncle Ringo. I want to see him, and see Zak, too. But I want to show you Thisbe,” she continued. “She’s sleeping on me bed.” 

“Is she?” He asked. “That’s brilliant.”

Heather grinned. “I think so, Uncle Ringo. Daddy says that she loves me.” 

“Why wouldn’t she love you? You’re a brilliant girl.”

“You mean it?” 

He nodded. “Of course I mean it,” he said. 

“Am I really brilliant, Daddy?” 

Paul took the cigarette out of his mouth, and tapped it into an ashtray. “You and your mum are two of the most brilliant people I know,” he told her. “Ringo here, he wouldn’t lie to ye. He’s a good egg. He came round to check up on us, you know?”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry that I fell asleep during recording time,” she continued. “I wanted to hear you play your drums.” 

“It’s okay,” he told her. “The next time you come round, I’ll make sure to give you a show. Your dad, you know, he plays the drums too. Have you heard him play?” 

She shook her head. “I didn’t know that.”   
  


“I’m not that great at it,” Paul told her. “You’re probably better off not hearing me play, luv.” 

“But I  _ want _ to hear it,” she insisted. “We should get a kit. Is that what they’re called?”

“Me neighbours wouldn’t like that,” he told her. “Drum kits, they’re very loud. It would disturb them.” 

“You can play on me drums,” Ringo interjected. “I don’t mind. She wants to hear you play. So. Have at it.” 

“Do you really want to hear me play them?” 

“Uh-huh,” she said. “I really do want to. I want to play them too.” 

“I’m sure that Ringo could teach you,” he said softly. “Or, I could give it a go, I reckon. We could mess around on them?” He glanced down at Heather, and then looked Ringo directly in the eyes. “Would that be all right, mate? If she played on them with me watching?”

“I don’t mind,” he told him. “I’d say we could go round now, but, well, do you really think Henry’s done with his lecture?” 

Paul let out a barking, almost bitter, laugh. “He’s probably not yet even begun it.”

They made their way down the hallway, past the master bedroom, and Heather stopped them in front of the bedroom that was closest to her mother and father’s, which Ringo recognised as the bedroom that John had spent many an evening passed out in, after a drug fueled evening gone wrong. If he was seriously jealous of the fact that Paul had let Heather use it, Ringo was going to spend quality time expressing his irritation at the level of pettiness. 

“Daddy said that I could do me room up however I wanted it,” Heather informed him, her eyes wide with pleasure. “He painted it for me, but I helped.”

“It looks lovely, Heather,” he said. “Care to come round and slap some paint on me walls?” He asked Paul, his tone joking. 

“Only for me little girl,” Paul said, and Ringo took note of the softness of his band mate’s tone. “Do a lot of things for that girl that I’d never do for others.” 

“Daddy loves me,” Heather agreed, and she tugged on their hands. “Come ead. Come see.” 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Paul--” John called after him, feeling somewhat guilty for what he’d said. Not much, granted, but Paul was supposed to be his mate. He’d just been having a go at his expense. “You bloody tosser,” he said. “Get back in here!” A door slammed in the distance. It was the only response. John then turned to George. “You bloody arse,” he told him. “Look what you’ve gone and done!”
> 
> “Me? You’re blaming what happened here on me?” George asked, his tone dripping with disbelief. “I swear to you, Lennon. If I wasn’t here for you to use as your scapegoat, would you have blamed that amplifier there?” He pointed at the amplifier that was sat in the corner by Richie’s drum kit. “Or would you blame the set of keys that Paul left behind on the settee? How about that cup and saucer?” 

“What the bloody hell is  _ she _ doing here?” John demanded, his arms crossed, as he peered down from the window of 3 Abbey Road that overlooked the street. “Paul? Do you have an answer for this?” 

“I don’t have a half bloody clue what you’re talking about,” Paul said from his position across the room, lounging about on a sofa, his bass beside him. “Would you care to elaborate on what you’re blaming me for?” 

“Cynthia is outside of the studio,” John said, his tone clipped. “What’s she doing here? Did you invite her? You skived off early yesterday.” 

Paul stifled a yawn. “I went home, John, to me daughter, and to her mother,” he said. “I didn’t go round to Kensington and tell Cyn to come visit the studio,” he said. “Honestly, I know you’ve become paranoid lately, but this takes the cake.” He stood. “Are you sure it’s actually her?” 

“Yes, I’m bloody well sure,” he said. “Come over here, and look down.” 

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he said, his tone sounding somewhat patronizing. “Honestly, John, I don’t appreciate you blaming me for the potential of Cynthia perhaps being on a public road in London, which, might I remind you, isn’t a crime.” 

“It bloody well should be,” John sputtered. “How dare she come around to piss like a dog on  _ me _ territory?” 

Paul joined him at the window, a lit cigarette in his hand. His fellow bandmate looked slightly disheveled, as if he had decided that remaining impeccably dressed was a hardship now that he’d saddled himself with a sprog, and a bird, and decided that meant that he had to be part of a family. John didn’t understand Paul sometimes. 

“See,” he told him, and he pointed a finger at the figure across the street. “She’s right bloody there. It looks like she’s brought an entourage!” 

“It looks to me like she brought your aunt,” Paul said, an expression of dread gracing his features. “I’ll have to ring Lind,” he continued, having rapidly paled. “I don’t want her bringing Heather round to this.” 

“Why not?” John said, and he shrugged his shoulders. “This is the real world, Macca. You knew what they were getting into when you flew them in from New York to live here, with you.”

“This is ludicrous,” Paul said. “I did not intend for you to behave so absolutely abhorrently that Cynthia would drag Aunt Mimi all the way to Abbey bloody Road to try to lecture the sense into you.”   
  


“You probably gave the old biddy a ring, knowing you,” he said with a sneer.

“A ring? I wouldn’t have had to! All she needed to do was go down to the shops and have her choice of the daily papers. I didn’t call Mimi, John. I didn’t have anything to do with this. You can’t constantly blame me when things go wrong, and they don’t bloody well go your way.” 

“Well, if you didn’t,” he said. “Who the hell did?” 

“I don’t bloody know, mate,” Paul said, the bitterness evident in his tone. “I don’t keep tabs on every person that we know, to ensure that they don’t dare to try to force a correction of your behaviour. I was at home last night.”

“Right, enjoying being the family man with your shiny new daughter in the room that used to be mine.”

“I won’t apologise for that,” he told him. “Things change, John. I’ve matured. I won’t play host to you after you’ve gone a bad trip. Not now. Not anymore.” 

“Right, because Linda’s so bloody good for you. What’s she going to do for you? Replace me as your bloody songwriting partner?” 

Paul scrubbed his hand across his face. “I love her, John. What’s the bloody difference between my loving Linda, and you loving Yoko? I’ve been trying to understand, mate, and I really can’t.” 

“What Yoko and I have is real,” John told him. “You’ll just run off when you get bored of the responsibility, mate. I won’t be here when you do.” 

“I’m not going to get bloody bored,” he said. “I’m not the one who’s going to get it in the ear from his aunt, am I?”

‘You’re the one who's going to bloody well tell them that I’m not here,” he said. 

Paul opened his mouth to respond, before a second voice joined them. “He won’t be doing that,” George said. “I was the one who put this together.” 

“You did what?” John demanded. 

“Pattie’s tired of being overshadowed,” he said, his tone flat. “She says it’s one thing when it’s articles about Paul here and his new family, but when it’s you, you’re bringing down her brand. Apparently she feels your behaviour is causing ruin to her modelling career.” 

“So you’ve ruined me life because your bird isn’t getting top billing on her page three sections?” 

“You take that back,” George said, his tone low. “You know bloody damn well that Pattie isn’t a bleeding  _ page three _ girl.” 

“What she is is a bloody tosser,” John said. “And you can tell her that I said that.” 

“You can tell her your bloody self,” George said. “I’ve invited her to the studio today. Why not? You seem content to inflict Yoko on us. Heather wants to meet Pattie.”

“I  _ just _ said that I was going to ring Linda and tell her not to come,” Paul said. “Why in god’s name would I subject my daughter to this utter debacle?”

“That’s not them there?” John questioned. “Right there,” he said, and he pointed at the people who had come into the frame of the window. Either it was a rather convincing copy of the broad from New York and her bastard of a child or it was actually them, and judging by the nearly literal smoke John could see coming out of Paul’s ears, it was the latter. “See?”

“I’ve got to go down and stop them,” Paul said. “Warn them, at least.” 

“See? Georgie, you’ve gone and upset him.” 

“I don’t think--”   
  


“Don’t you bloody well blame George for this,” Paul told him, as he picked up the jumper that he’d taken off earlier and slipped it over his shoulders. “This is  _ your _ fault, Lennon. Make no mistake on that.”

John opened the window. “Oi,” he called. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?” 

“John!” 

“What?” 

“You can’t--” Paul stopped mid-sentence. “Nothing. I’m going to go down and meet me girls.” 

“Listen to how you talk,” he told him. “You sound like a bloody nonce.” 

“Sod off,” Paul said. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. George was right to bring them here, and if you don’t see that, you need to re-examine your priorities.”

“Paul--”

“Don’t you bloody “Paul” me,” he said. “I’m tired, John. Tired of protecting you.” 

“I don’t need your bloody protection,” John insisted. “I’ve got Yoko, now.” 

“Right, well, since we’ve got that sorted, I think I’ll go down and meet me girls.”

“Paul--” John called after him, feeling somewhat guilty for what he’d said. Not much, granted, but Paul was supposed to be his mate. He’d just been having a go at his expense. “You bloody tosser,” he said. “Get back in here!” A door slammed in the distance. It was the only response. John then turned to George. “You bloody arse,” he told him. “Look what you’ve gone and done!”

“Me? You’re blaming what happened here on me?” George asked, his tone dripping with disbelief. “I swear to you, Lennon. If I wasn’t here for you to use as your scapegoat, would you have blamed that amplifier there?” He pointed at the amplifier that was sat in the corner by Richie’s drum kit. “Or would you blame the set of keys that Paul left behind on the settee? How about that cup and saucer?” 

“Don’t bloody be daft,” he said, and he drew in a deep breath. “Those things had nothing to do with what happened here. You were the one who invited me Auntie and me ex-wife around to  _ my _ recording studio.” 

“And Julian,” George added. “It isn’t fair that Heather be the only one allowed, now, is it?”

John clenched his fists. “Heather is only allowed in here because Paul decided that he was going to bring her round in the hopes that it made me leave Yoko behind. He’s just going to get bloody bored with her and her mother when he realises that being a father isn’t just all fun and games, it’s too much bloody effort for little reward.” 

“I don’t think Paul shares your feelings on fatherhood,” he told him. “I’m relatively certain that he and Linda are in it for the long haul. They seem happy together.”

“How the hell do you reckon that?” 

“I’ve interacted with them?” George told him. “He’s me mate, and they’re important to him, so I’ve done me best to get to know them. What the hell have you done? Whinged all the time because Paul can’t stand Yoko? Neither can I, you know.” 

“Sod off, you wanker,” he said. “I never asked you for your opinion.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Are you sure that Daddy wants us to visit him?” Heather asked her mum in a cautious tone, not fully certain what she wanted the answer to be. She wanted to go to the studio and listen to him sing, and play the drums (she hoped Uncle Ringo was there so that they could!), but she didn’t know that she wanted to be around if Uncle John was in another bad mood. ‘Mum? Are you sure?” She held tightly to Linda’s hand as they left the house. 

There were fewer fans hanging around then there normally were, and Heather was grateful for that. They’d clearly either seen her dad leave, or known that he and the rest of the band was at the studio, and that meant that they weren’t there, waiting to bother her. 

“Yes, luvvy, I’m sure,” her mum told her. “I think it cheers Daddy up when we’re there with him. You know that he’s been fighting with the others lately.”   
  


She nodded. “Daddy says they’re still his mates, though. Did he lie?”

“No, Daddy didn’t lie,” she said. “It’s just that friends fight sometimes, but they can still be friends. I just think that you being there makes him feel better.” 

“Okay, Mummy,” she said. It made her happy to hear that. “I liked going to work with him the other day.” 

“I know you did.” 

“And then Daddy came home early yesterday and we got to get into our pyjamas even though it wasn’t dark out yet, and then we got to eat in front of the telly,” she said happily, as she recalled the events of the previous day. “I didn’t think he was going to go to work today, though.” She pouted. 

“He needs to,” she said in response. “He said it would only be a couple more times in the studio, and then he’ll have some time off before the next recording. We’re going to go on a little holiday, I think.” 

“Okay, Mum.” Heather glanced up at her. “Where would we go?” 

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “We’d have to discuss it with Daddy, don’t you think? He might have some ideas.” 

“I think so, too,” she said, and she nodded in agreement. Heather loved her dad. She didn’t want to suggest going to a vacation place -- or rather, a holiday place -- that he didn’t want to go to. “Maybe Uncle George will have more biscuits to share.” 

Heather hoped so. She thought that the biscuits had had a funny name, but she’d enjoyed them anyways. 

“Biscuits, eh?” Linda asked her. “What type?” 

“He called them something funny,” she told her, as they headed down the pavement in the direction of the street that the studio was on. “Chocolate digestives. They tasted yummy.” 

She sighed as they rounded the corner, and she noticed a crowd of people had gathered across the street from where Daddy worked. Heather didn’t like the groups of people very much. Some of them weren’t very nice to her, and she didn’t understand why. She’d never done anything to them. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” Mum offered, and she nodded. “Okay, Heath. Don’t mind them. Daddy and I will have them sorted if they upset you.” She lifted her up as she said that, and Heather clung to her fiercely. “You don’t want to head home?”    
  


“No,” she said. “I want to see Daddy. I promised.”

“I know, luv, but Daddy will understand,” she said. “I know that he would.”

Heather knew that as well. She was determined to be brave, however. “It’s fine, Mummy. I’ll be okay if you hold me.” 

“Okay,” she said in agreement. “I don’t exactly know that they’re here because of Daddy, anyways,” she told her. “They seem to be interested in someone on the other side of the road.” 

Heather didn’t know. She didn’t want to risk it. “Not Daddy?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” she said. “There’s a lot of press here. Why would they care about Daddy making a record album?”

“It would be a boring story,” she agreed. 

The crowd was loud, though, and she didn’t like loud noises, even if they weren’t directed at her. 

“Mrs. Lennon,” she heard a voice say. “We’re here with the BBC, will you give a statement?” 

“They’re talking to Julian’s mum,” she told Linda, having peered over her shoulder at the mention of Uncle John’s last name, and spotted Julian (whom she was still angry with), and his mum (who had been loud the last time Heather had seen her) and an older woman that Heather had never seen in her entire life, at the centre of the throng of people. “Should we get them to stop?” 

“They won’t listen to us,” her mum said softly. “Maybe we ought to tell someone in the studio, though.”

“Yes, I’ll be glad to give a statement,” Julian’s mum said. “What would you like my statement to be?” 

“We understand that you and Mr. Lennon have separated, and are in the process of divorcing,” the man said. “What brings you here to Abbey Road, where the Beatles are hard at work recording their latest LP album in this branch of the EMI recording company?” 

“I’ve come to see John, of course,” she said. “Julian’s entitled to see his father, isn’t he?”

“Of course, Mrs. Lennon. No one disagrees with that statement.”   
  


“And John’s poor auntie,” she said, and she gestured to the other woman, who looked like she’d just been forced to eat her vegetables, or something even more horrid, like cod liver oil, and not like she was pleased to be on the telly. “Was I supposed to send them by British Rail?” 

“Of course not, Mrs. Lennon, but--”

“I’m sorry,” Heather heard a familiar voice say, and she turned herself away from spying on Julian’s mother, in order to see her dad with her own eyes. “I came as soon as I could,” he told them, as he tried to catch his breath. “Ran all the way down the stairs.”

“What’s happening, Paul?” Her mummy asked. 

“You heard her, Mummy,” Heather said, in an attempt to be helpful. “She didn’t want to send Julian and Uncle John’s aunt by British Rail. I dunno why. It sounds fun to me.” 

“I know that, honey, but I was hoping that Daddy knew why they were here,” she said. 

“We can go on British Rail,” Daddy told her. “If that’s what you’d like. Okay? They didn’t scare you, did they, duck?”

“A little, at first,” she admitted. “Mummy made it better.” 

“Cor, Mummy’s a good egg, isn’t she?” He grinned at her. “Want me to give ‘em a scare?” 

“Paul!”

“I want to go with you!” Heather said with a squeal, her eyes lighting up. “Please, Daddy?” She reached out for him. 

“What d’you say, Lind?” 

Mummy sighed. “Oh, fine,” she said. “Go on. Do you want me to go with you?” 

“Cor,” he said, and he nodded. “I’ll always want that.” 

“Well, that’s sorted, then,” she said. “You want to be the one to hold Heath? I think she’d like that.”

Daddy nodded. “I’ll always hold our little girl.” He quirked a grin at her, and one at Mummy. “Daddy loves both of you, you’re my babies.” 

“I love you, too,” Mum told him, and she leaned over to give him a kiss. “Here you go, Daddy’s going to carry you, all right, poppet?” 

“I want Daddy to,” Heather insisted, and she planted a kiss on his cheek. “Do you think we’ll get to be on the telly?” 

“I don’t know, luv,” he told her, as he looped his arm around her mum. “I reckon we’re going to find out.” 

“Well, I think that it’s a lot of codswallop, if you ask me,” Julian’s mum could be heard saying. “I mean, he was never that attentive to either of us, but I was willing to overlook this indiscretion.” 

“What indiscretion?” 

“Oh, you know,” she said. Heather didn’t know what an indiscretion was, but she was curious, especially since she could see that her dad was reddening. “He saw fit to have that woman as a guest in my home, and he neglected to use our guest room.” 

“Are you implying that you  _ weren’t _ the person who committed adultery?” 

“I don’t have to imply anything,” she said. “I think that it’s fuc--”

“Excuse me,” Daddy said. “I’m sorry, sir, I understand that you’re trying to get yourself a bit of a story here, but you’ve caused a scene, and we’re trying to record in the studio.”   
  


“Mr. McCartney,” he said. Heather noticed that he was suddenly smiling. “Care to give a statement?” 

“A statement on what? How inappropriate this entire conversation between you and ‘Mrs. Lennon’ has been? How annoyed the British public will be when our recording is delayed because of the utter racket you’ve caused? What will the Royals say? They pay your salary, don’t they?” 

“Who are these people?” 

“Oh, you’d like to know that, wouldn’t you? Think that would be a good headline to put on the evening news?” He sighed. “You know what? Sod it. I’ve got nothing to hide. We’ve got nothing to hide.” 

“You’ll give us a statement?”

“I’ll gladly tell the BBC that this is my daughter,” he said, and Heather smiled in the direction of the reporter, before she buried her face in his jumper. “Her name’s Heather, and this is her mum, Linda. If I hear that you’ve  _ ever _ spoken to them without me permission, any one of you lot, I will make my anger known. How’s that for a statement?”

“Duly noted.” 

“Now, are we done here?” 

“I--”

“Cynthia won’t be saying anything more to you,” the older woman, whom Heather assumed was Uncle John’s aunt, informed the reporter. “If you need a statement, you can speak to the solicitor. Come on, Julian.”

“You’ll be coming along, too,” Daddy said, and Heather cringed at his tone. “Come on, Cynthia.”

“Are you angry, Daddy?” 

“No, I’m not angry, duck,” he said. “I’m disappointed. But not at you. You’re not the reason that Daddy is unamused at this time.” He brushed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you.” 

“I know,” she told him. “You’re me daddy.” 

“I know, Hettie, I just wanted to make sure that you heard me say it,” he said, as he entered the main entrance to the studios, and held the door open for Linda, and the others, to follow him. “I don’t want you to ever feel like I don’t love you, because that’s not true. You’re me baby girl.”

“Will I always be your baby girl?” 

“Yeah, always. Even when Mummy and I are old and grey. Even when you’re a teenager and being me baby girl is something that embarrasses you. You being me baby girl is something that will never change.”

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered. “Did you really tell the whole world that I’m your daughter?” 

“Just the people that would be watching the telly, luv,” he said. “Nothing to worry about.” 

“I’m not worried about it,” she said. “You’re me da.” 

Daddy grinned at her. “Yeah, I’m your da.” 

“I didn’t know that you had a child,” the stranger said to him, and Heather curled closer, as if being pressed against his chest would make her invisible. “John’s never said anything to me.”   
  


“I’ll explain later,” he said, and she felt him kiss the top of her head. “Maybe we ought to get everyone settled before we go around and have a grand introduction?” 

“I suppose that you’re right,” she said. “I didn’t mean to give her a fright.” 

“I know you didn’t,” he said. “It’s fine, Aunt Mimi. I know you didn’t mean any harm.” 

Heather peered at the stranger with squinted, suspicious, eyes. “She’s your aunt, Da?” 

“She’s John’s aunt,” he told her. “John lived with her when he was growing up.” 

“Oh,” she said, and she decided to accept that explanation, and press on. “If you call her Aunt Mimi, and Uncle John calls her Aunt Mimi, should I call her that too?”

“I don’t know, Heath,” he said. “I reckon you ought to call her Mrs. Smith. I--”

“She can call me Aunt Mimi,” the woman said. “It’s all right, Paul.”

“John--If that’s really okay with you,” he said. She wondered what he had meant to say about Uncle John, but decided she really didn’t care. “Do you want to call her Aunt Mimi?”

She nodded into his chest. 

“Well,” he said. “I reckon that’s sorted, then. Probably the least complicated issue we’re going to deal with today.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Where do you think you three are going?” Paul heard George Martin ask, and he cringed when he recognized that he was one of the three he was addressing. “Aren’t we meant to be doing recording? In the studio?”

“Not unless you want our record to be the sounds of screaming,” he told him. “Look, Heather needs a moment to decompress after the debacle she and Linda had the grand misfortune to encounter on the way into the studio, as do Linda and I. We’ll only be a moment or two.”

“The sounds of screaming?” He echoed. “What do you mean?”   
  


“Well, Henry. George, you see, in his infinite wisdom, decided that he would listen to Pattie’s whinging about the two halves of the Lennon and Lennon partnership, and he decided that a good way to rebuild the family bond was to invite Cynthia, Julian, and John’s aunt here to the studio.” 

“Is it working?” 

“Well, I couldn’t tell you. Given that Cynthia was quite keen on spilling secrets to the BBC that would  _ indeed _ be inappropriate to be aired prior to the watershed, I’m not entirely certain that there is much of anything to rebuild.”   
  


George Martin paled several shades. “Secrets? What secrets?” 

“She said something about an indiscretion,” Heather supplied, and Paul rubbed circles on her back. “I dunno what that word means, but the bloke from the telly asked if it meant she was saying Uncle John was the only grown up. That’s what that word means, right, Daddy?”

“What word, luv?” Paul asked. “Can you clarify what you heard?”

Beside him, Linda drew in a deep breath, and Paul glanced over at her. “What is it, baby?” 

“The word that was used was adultery,” she told them. “I wish I could tell you that you’re too young to know what that word means, but I would rather have you hear what it means from me and Daddy, okay?” 

Heather nodded. 

“She brought that up to an interviewer from the BBC?” George Martin demanded. “The British Broadcasting Corporation?” 

“Yes,” she said, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t think that we gain anything from lying about it.” 

“Oh my God,” he said. “I’ll have to write a retraction. What is wrong with them? I’ll have to read it by myself. Can’t put either of them on the air.”

“Henry--”   
  


“Not now, Paul. I’m trying to think.”

“Henry--”

“Not now, Paul, in a minute.” 

“Just bloody  _ listen _ to me,” he said. “I went out to get Cyn to shut her bloody mouth, and, more importantly, to try to get Heather and Linda the hell away from there. When I heard what she was saying to that bloody square from the Beeb, I informed him that I would gladly give a statement.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “I reckon they thought I’d give them the truth about what happened between the two Lennons, but I decided that I would tell them  _ my _ truth. That Heather’s me daughter, the best thing in the world that’s ever happened to me, and that I didn’t care who knew it. She’s not some dirty secret that I want to keep hidden away.” 

“I don’t expect you to keep her hidden away,” he said. “I want to make that very clear. I understand that Brian wanted Julian to be kept hidden, but Brian is no longer here to make those decisions, and you’re an adult, and  _ you _ are capable of making your own choices.” 

“Only me?” 

“Whose idea was it to bring them here?” 

“That would be George,” he said, as he sat himself down in a chair, and Heather settled herself on his lap. Linda sat down on the chair beside him. “It seems that he decided to after it upset Pattie that John and Cynthia were ‘ruining her brand’. Not that I bloody know what they’re talking about.” 

“I see,” he said, and he pressed a hand to his forehead. “Richard?” 

“No, George claimed he’d come up with it on his own.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “How are you feeling, duck?” 

“I’m hungry,” Heather informed him. “Do you have anything for us to eat?” 

“I think that we can sort something out for you,” he told her. “You don’t mind that everyone on the telly knows you’re me daughter?” 

“I’ll allow Richard to make his own decisions, as well,” George decided. “And, not to worry, Miss Heather. I’ll make sure that you’re fed in a prompt manner.” 

“I don’t mind, Daddy.” Heather giggled. “Will you make sure I can have biscuits, Mr. Martin?” 

“I think that I can arrange for that,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’d like to play with young Julian, would you?”

She shook her head. “Do I have to?”

“No,” Paul said. “I don’t think you have to.”   
  


“But you can’t be rude to him,” Linda added. “You still have to be polite.” 

“Do I, Daddy?” Heather gazed up at him with wide eyes. “Do I really?”   
  


“Yeah, Heath,” he said. “Be a good girl. I know you can do it.”

“Okay,” she settled on. “Will you sing to me?” 

“Well, that depends,” he said. “Does Mummy want me to sing?” 

A commotion could be heard from the recording studio that contained John and Cynthia, and Paul winced. “My final offer is £75,000,” John shouted. “That’s like winning the pools for you, so what are you moaning about? You’re not worth any more!”

“I think I’d like that, Paul,” Linda said. 

“I want you to sing the song about Martha,” Heather requested. “She’s me favourite.” 

“Yeah, luv, I know she is,” he said softly. “Of course I’ll sing about Martha.”

Heather squealed. 

Paul drew in a deep breath, and he started to sing, pulling her close.  _ “Martha, my dear, though I spend my days in conversation, please, remember me. Martha, my love, don't forget me, Martha, my dear. Hold your head up, you silly girl, look what you've done. When you find yourself in the thick of it,help yourself to a bit of what is all around you, silly girl. Take a good look around you. Take a good look you're bound to see, That you and me were meant to be with each other. Silly girl. Hold your hand out, you silly girl. See what you've done. When you find yourself in the thick of it help yourself to a bit of what is all around you. Silly girl. Martha, my dear, you have always been my inspiration. Please, be good to me. Martha, my love, don't forget me. Martha, my dear. _ ”

“What did you think of Daddy’s song, darling?” Linda asked, once Paul had finished, and only heard silence coming from the corridor. “Did you like it?”

“I love Daddy’s song about Martha,” Heather said, and she wrinkled her nose. “I have a question, though.”   
  
“What is it, luv?” Paul dared to ask. 

“It’s just that, I don’t understand Uncle John just now,” she said. “When he mentioned about the pools? Why does all that money have to have anything to do with going swimming?”

“I’m not entirely sure what Uncle John meant by that,” Paul said. “Tell you what. I’ll figure that answer out. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, and she gave him a kiss. “You and Mummy always figure things out for me.” 

“That’s because it’s our job,” he said. “Well, it’s one of them. I mean, obviously Daddy and Mummy have our day jobs, too. But caring for you and making sure that you feel safe, that’s one of our most important jobs. Isn’t that right, Mummy?” Paul reached his hand out to touch Linda’s arm. 

She looked over at them. “It is,” she agreed. “And, I think that you’re doing a great job of it.” 

“You really think that?” 

“Of course I do,” she said, and she shifted on the chair so that she could give him a kiss. “I love you, Paul, and you’ve done nothing but be a good father to Heather. I’ve rolled this for you while you were singing,” she added, as she placed the joint in his free hand. 

“Thank you, baby,” he said, as he kissed her again. “You’re wonderful to me. Excuse me, darling, Daddy needs to get into his pocket for his lighter,” he informed Heather. “Can you get down for just a mo?” 

“Okay,” she said. “I can sit with Mummy if you want?”

Paul pulled the lighter out of his back pocket, and he sparked up the joint. “No, you can come back. It’s all right. Come ead, luv.” He beckoned her back over to him, and he offered her a lazy smile when she obliged. The pot hadn’t really hit him yet, but he hoped that it would by the time Heather’d finished with the tea Henry had promised to bring her, and they’d be forced to pretend they were all adults and go back into the studio. “Oh, look who’s back, baby,” he told Linda, and he gestured with his hand that held the joint to the long suffering music producer, who held a tray of food in his hand. “Hullo, Henry.” 

“In front of the child, Paul?” 

Paul shrugged. “I think we both know there are worse things occuring in front of children now, aren’t there?” He exhaled a cloud of smoke, pointedly away from Heather. “We all have our vices, Henry. I can’t hardly think that mine are worse than John’s.” He prodded Heather on the shoulder, and she looked up at him, and then at George Martin. “What do you say to George Martin, luv?” 

Heather gazed up at him, her shyness prominent. “Thank you for tea, Mr. Martin,” she said. “I was only wanting the biscuits.”

“Yes, well, a growing girl like yourself needs more to eat than just biscuits,” he said. 

“I didn’t want to put you out,” she said, as she shifted her position on Paul’s lap. “Go to too much trouble.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said. “It wasn’t too much trouble.” 

“Okay,” she said. “Can I call you Uncle Henry?” 

“Heather!” Paul protested. “That’s--”   
  


“Aunt Mimi said I could call her that,” she reminded him, her lips forming a pout. “Why can’t I ask him?”

“It’s fine,” George Martin told him. “I don’t mind if she calls me that.” 

“Well, all right,” he said. “I reckon that’s all right with me, then,” he said. He really didn’t mind what Heather called Henry, so long as it wasn’t rude, and so long as he didn’t mind it. “What do you say to Uncle Henry?”

“Thank you, Uncle Henry,” she said, and she climbed off Paul’s lap, and went over to where Henry stood and gave him a hug. Paul tried to hide his surprise. “I appreciate the foods.”

“You’re welcome,” he told her. “Why don’t you you tuck in, and then after, perhaps you’d feel comfortable coming back into the studio?” The question seemed directed at Heather, but Paul sensed it was really towards him. 

He bit back a sigh, and took another drag on his joint, before he deigned to dignify the question with a response. “I reckon that it would take more than Heather having a meal to make me feel comfortable coming back into the studio,” he said, electing to go for honesty. 

“What? You’re not coming back?” 

“Oh, I’ll come back, Henry,” he said, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Mainly because I left me keys in there,” he admitted. “But, I’ll come back, whatever sorts you. Heather wants to play the drums today, don’t you, luv?” Heather was making fast work of the tray of food. “You do, right?” 

She nodded. “You and Uncle Ringo promised me,” she said. “Am I still allowed to? I won’t get in trouble, will I?”

“No,” he told her. “She won’t, will she, Henry?” 

“I don’t see it being an issue,” he told him. “Don’t worry, Heather. I’ll see to it that you’re allowed to. I think perhaps we will have  _ another _ conversation on the subject of what the definition of proper behaviour at the recording studio consists of.” 

“Telling the man from the telly about indiscretions?” Heather asked, and she gave him an inquisitive look. “Is that good behaviour?” 

“I--”

“Right, well, as Heather has pointed out, you have bigger issues than whether or not me baby and me have a joint in the studio,” Paul said, his gaze innocent. “You don’t see Linda or I causing trouble, now do you? We’re just sat here. Not to mention that I’ve distracted everyone from whatever in God’s name Cyn had seen fit to say to the press before I showed up. You know that they’re going to take what I said and run with it.” 

“This is true,” George Martin allowed. “I suppose that I can turn a blind eye to the fact that you won’t keep off the grass.” 

Beside him, Linda let out a laugh. “That was funny, Henry.” 

“Contrary to the popular image of myself, I am capable of a sense of humour,” he said. “You will be coming back inside? I don’t have to stand out here with the three of you?” 

“Even if you thought we weren’t,” Paul said. “Don’t you reckon that you ought to check in on the recording studio? See what the state of it is?” He yawned. “Can you pass me the ashtray?” 

“In a minute, Daddy,” Heather said. 

“No, luv, I was asking George,” he told her. “You just tuck in, enjoy your meal.” 

“What’s wrong with the state of the recording studio?” George Martin asked him, his tone hesitant, as he produced the requested ashtray. “You better use that, Paul. Mind the signage.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know exactly, but we heard something about a pool? John was ranting and raving about it.” 

Was it wrong to fudge the truth about what they’d overheard John shouting? Perhaps. He was admittedly being petty. He just felt that some pettiness was justified when he was being fed the riot act for smoking a plant in front of his own child, while John and Cynthia were likely coming to blows in the recording studio, under the questionable (at best) supervision of George, and a surely disapproving Aunt Mimi, and, at the bare minimum, displaying questionable parenting in front of their child. 

“A pool?”

“Yes, you know, one of those things that you put in a back garden? Think maybe he wants to put one in the studio,” he shook his head. “You never know with John these days. I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.” He affected a gaze of innocence, and turned so that he was facing Linda. “Would you, baby?” 

“Oh, definitely not,” she said. “They have portable ones for children, you know. Perhaps John’s decided that’s the mark of a good parent?” 

“It does sound like something he’d do,” Paul agreed. “Why don’t you go check up on them? We’ll come round when we’re done here.” 

“Right,” he said. “I’ll go check up on them. Will you keep an eye out for Ringo?” 

“Of course,” he said. “Anything for you.” 

Paul resisted openly rolling his eyes in front of George Martin, waiting until the older man had left the room they were in to do so. “Absolutely bloody bonkers,” he said. “Treating  _ us _ like we’re the problem when John and Cyn are in the other room trying to set off the bloody third world war.” He took another hit off the joint, before he passed it to Linda. “Will you share a biscuit with me, Hettie?”

“Of course I’ll share with you, Daddy, “ she said happily, and she crossed the room to where they were sat, the requested biscuits in her hand. “Do you want some too, Mummy?” 

“I’d love some,” she said. Heather handed them each a handful of biscuits. “Thank you, angel.”   
  


“You’re welcome,” she said. “I dunno why the grass never fills you up. It does for cows.” 

“It’s a different kinda grass, luv,” Paul told her, and he reached out to pat the top of her head. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“I will?” 

“Yeah, luv, when you’re older, Mummy and I will let you try it,” he said, and he patted the spot on his lap that she’d vacated. “You want to bring the tray over here and sit with us? You can. I don’t mind.” 

She nodded. “Okay. I will. Eat your biscuits, Daddy. Mum already has.” 

“I’ll eat,” he told her. “You don’t have to worry about that. The grass makes me hungry.” 

“I know,” she said. “Will you sing me another song?” 

Paul nodded. He found it flattering that Heather wanted to sing to him, and he gestured to the guitar that had been abandoned by someone in the studio they’d settled in. “I’ll sing you a song that we’ve already released, yeah? You’d be okay with that?” 

She nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll get the guitar.” 

Paul smiled at her as she went to get the guitar, pleased that she’d asked him for her own private concert. He’d always enjoyed performing, but there was something he liked about performing for his little family even more. 

“Thanks, luv,” he told her, and he pressed a kiss to her lips. “You reckon you ought to sit with Mummy?” 

“I dunno if I’d fit with the guitar,” she answered. “I’ll sit with Mummy. I don’t mind.”

“Maybe if we were on a settee,” he agreed, as he arranged the guitar as best he could (it was a right-handed one) and started to play. 

“ _ I was alone, I took a ride, I didn't know what I would find there. Another road where maybe I could see another kind of mind there. Ooh, then I suddenly see you. Ooh, did I tell you I need you. Every single day of my life? You didn't run, you didn't lie, you knew I wanted just to hold you, and had you gone you knew in time we'd meet again, for I had told you. Ooh, you were meant to be near me, ooh, and I want you to hear me say we'll be together every day. Got to get you into my life! What can I do, what can I be? When I'm with you I want to stay there. If I'm true I'll never leave, and if I do I know the way there. Ooh, then I suddenly see you, ooh, did I tell you I need you, every single day of my life. Got to get you into my life. Got to get you into my life. I was alone, I took a ride, I didn't know what I would find there, another road where maybe I could see another kind of mind there. Then suddenly I see you! Did I tell you I need you? Every single day _ ?”

Paul took the guitar off, and he laid it on the ground beside him. “What did you think, luv? Did you like it?” 

“I liked it,” Linda said to him, her eyes glinting with amusement. “What about you, Heath?” 

“You’re the bestest singer. Ever.” 


	7. Chapter 7

“Uncle Ringo!” Heather squealed excitedly, directly in Paul’s ear, and he winced at the volume. “Daddy, please put me down. I want to say hi to Uncle Ringo.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry ye, luv?” He asked, as he shifted his weight so that he could more easily put her on the floor, if she told him to. “We can go over and say hello to Uncle Ringo, together. Me, you, and Mummy.”   
  


“I reckon that would be all right, “ Heather told him, and she pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you, Daddy.” 

“I know, darling,” he said, a wide grin gracing his features. “I love you too.” 

Ringo had indeed appeared in his field of sight, and he was half tempted to tell the other man to to escape to home, but his baser instincts regarding the strength of numbers prevailed. So, he pushed himself up from the chair he’d been sat on and rose to his feet, pressing a kiss to Heather’s cheek as he did. He offered his free hand to Linda, in order to help her up. The haze of a high had enveloped him, and his stress levels had dropped dramatically. 

“What’s going on?” Ringo asked, as he made his way over to them. “Figured you’d be in there, recording, you know?” 

Paul let out a sigh. “Well, mate, you know, I thought we’d be in the studio recording, too,” he said, and he let go of Linda’s hand for a moment, in order to rake his hand through his hair. I would love to say that we’ve just stepped out of the room to have a bit of grass, but, well that’d be doing you a disservice. I think it’s a fair thing to say that it’s been a bit of a long day, hasn’t it?” 

Heather shook her head. “The best day ever,” she informed them. “Don’t you remember?” 

Paul furrowed his brow, and he wondered if Heather actually had decided that his impulsive decision to force his way in front of the cameras and tell the reporter that he was her father overruled everything else that had happened that day, and he shrugged his shoulders and decided that it wasn’t worth correcting her. He shifted his hold on her so that he could press a kiss on the top of her head. 

“Tell Uncle Ringo what you got to do today,” he told her, his tone encouraging. “He wants to know, right, mate?” 

“Of course,” he said in response. “You can tell me, Heather.” 

“I got to be on the telly, Uncle Ringo,” she said, as she stuck her thumb in her mouth. “Daddy told everyone that we’re going to be a family,” she added. 

“Not going to be,” he corrected her. “Daddy wanted to let everyone know that we are a family.” 

“Even though you haven’t officially adopted me?”   
  


“That don’t--that doesn’t matter to me, Heath,” he said. “You’re my daughter, with or without that piece of paper.” He kissed her again. “I can’t wait to marry your mummy and make you officially ours.” 

“I love you, Daddy,” she said. “But being on the telly was brilliant,” she informed Ringo. “Daddy asked Mummy if we wanted to be on it, and Mummy, she said it was okay. I told Daddy that I wanted to be. I didn’t think he would tell everyone that I was his daughter.” 

“That must have been a nice surprise,” Ringo said. “Were they here to see you?” 

She shook her head. “No, they were being rude and interrupting the recording session to talk about something lame,” she said. “Julian’s mum, she was being interviewed.” 

“About what?”    
  


“I dunno,” she said. “Grown up stuff. Daddy said I needn’t be bothered by it.”

Paul drew in a deep breath. “They were interviewing her about the situation between her and John,” he said, as he lit up a cigarette. “She was rather entirely too candid, and the press, they were eating it up, yanno, along with the Apple Scruffs. And Lin and Heath were there and I didn’t think they needed to be exposed to that. So I took a chance. I’m not ashamed of Heather or Linda. I want people to know about them, for them to acknowledge what they are to me, how important they are to me.” Paul meant that, and he was being sincere. “I figured that it would be nice for everyone to hear,” he said, and he met his bandmate’s eyes as he did, hoping that the hidden truth was understood. “Anyways, I agree that it was good, you know, I liked being able to tell the bloke from the BBC about my little girl. It’s just that were out here because we wanted to give them some time alone to talk.”

“Them?” Richie asked, rather hesitantly. “What do you mean?”   
  


“Well, you know, John and George are in there,” he said, and he shrugged. “They’re a bit preoccupied with Cyn, and Henry, and Julian, and Aunt Mimi.” He shuddered. “I was hoping that they’d have cleared out by now, to be honest. But it doesn’t look like they have. And, honestly, I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“John’s aunt is here?” 

“Indeed, and she was privy to this morning’s little newscast,” he said. “Maybe we ought to record. It would show them something, wouldn’t it? You, me, Lin, the girl?”

Heather giggled. “You want me to be in your band? Aren’t I too young?” 

Paul smirked. “No, Hettie, never.” He kissed her again. “You could be the one in charge.” 

She returned the kiss. “I love you, Daddy.” 

“You know that I love you,” he said. “You and Mum.”

“And Uncle Ringo,” she said. “You love him too, right, Daddy?” 

“Cor,” he said, and he nodded in agreement. “He’s me big brother. Him and John. And George is me little brother.” 

“Do you love Daddy, Uncle Ringo?” Heather asked him. 

Ringo nodded. “I agree with your father,” he said. “He’s me younger brother. I’m the oldest one of all of us, you know?”   
  
“Older than Uncle John?” 

“By a few months, yeah,” he said. “Maybe I ought to give him a brotherly lecture?” 

“I don’t think he’d listen,” Paul said. “It’s not him that my issue is currently with, anyroad,” he said, as they approached the door to the studio. “It’s Cynthia. She knew perfectly well what she was doing there. She didn’t bloody care, if you ask me.” 

“Why would George even ask them to come?”

“That’s another thing,” he said, and he scowled. “I didn’t have a chance to ask him, because I saw Lin and Heath, and decided they were slightly more important, but when I do…”

“You’re going to take his digestives away because he’s been naughty?” Heather asked hopefully. “I’ll help you, Daddy.” 

“Oh, Heath,” he said, and he lifted her higher. “Cor, you’re the most brilliant little girl that I know. You have no idea how much I love you.” 

She looped her arms around his neck. “I love you, too, Daddy. I want to help with the biscuits, though.” 

“We shall see, ducky.” Paul was honestly rather tempted. “I reckon things will be alright.” He sighed. “Let’s go in.” 

He placed his hand on the lever. “Do we have to stay if they’re being loud?” Heather asked. 

“No, duck, if they’re being loud, I’ll just grab me keys, and we’ll go home, yeah?” 

She nodded. “You’ll be brave?” 

“Yeah, luv, Daddy will be the brave one. Don’t you worry about that.”

With gritted teeth, Paul opened the door, and Ringo cut in front of them to enter the room first, which he was rather grateful for. He had little desire to be there, but with John in a spiteful mood, who knew what he’d do with Paul’s personal belongings? The last thing he wanted was for his keys to get in the hands of either a fan or worse, an irate John, or his bint of a woman. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of either John or Yoko having access to his home, and he set his eyes on the keys which were still on the couch that he’d been laid on earlier, though the settee itself had been somewhat occupied by Mimi, who had perched on the end of it. He let out a sigh of relief as he cast his gaze around the studio itself, which managed to be in one piece, at least, for the most part. A stony silence had settled around the room, but he decided that was preferable to the angry shouting that had been permeating the recording studio at nearly every rehearsal lately. 

“Look who Heather found,” he said, his tone purposely jovial, as he gestured to Ringo. “Here and ready to be a part of the recording session.” 

“I’m not entirely certain that’s happening today,” George said. 

“Oh, and why not? What a shame. Sounds like we can head home, then.” 

“I want to stay,” Heather whispered into his ear. “They’re not being loud, Daddy.” 

“I--”

“Yeah, mate,” John said, a smile on his face. “Stay. Aunt Mimi wants to properly meet young Heather, and your lovely Linda.” 

“I informed John that I did not appreciate being kept from this development,” Mimi said, and Paul was fairly certain that if looks could kill, the look she’d gave John would have. “Come,” she commanded. “Sit.” 

“Uh--” 

“Do you really think Mummy is lovely, Uncle John?” Heather demanded, her tone filled with suspicion. “You’ve never said anything like that ‘round her before.” 

Paul didn’t bother to chastise the girl. She wasn’t wrong. 

“Of course Mummy is lovely, Heather,” Paul assured her. “You needn’t worry about Uncle John and his thoughts.” 

The part of Paul who was a scared, teenaged boy, meeting John’s formidable aunt for the first time, elected to heed Mimi’s invitation (he was fairly certain it was a demand) for him to sit, and he placed his keys in the pocket of his trousers and sat down on the settee beside her, close enough so that Linda could sit beside him, but not so close that there wasn’t some healthy space between them. Heather settled herself on his lap. 

“Want to be a help, Hettie?” 

“Uh huh,” she said. “What do you want me to do?” 

“Will you get me the hash tray?” He gestured to an ashtray that was perched on the table. “And bring it here?” 

“Yeah, I can do that,” she said. Mimi let out a cough, clearly one of disapproval. “What?” Heather asked, her eyes wide. “Have I done something wrong?” 

“No,” Paul said, his tone firm. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” he assured her, before he turned to John’s aunt, and dared to voice his disapproval. “What? D’you have a problem?” 

“I just don’t think that you should say such things in front of a child,” she said. “Calling it a  _ hash _ tray? Really, Paul? You’re going to make her think that you partake in...that product.” 

“And so what if I do?” He demanded. “She’s our daughter, and Linda and I will raise her as we see fit.” 

Heather had returned with the ashtray, and climbed onto Linda’s lap, though she reached out for his free hand. He was happy to oblige her. 

“Thank you, luv,” he whispered, as he ducked his head to kiss the top of hers. “You’re a great help.” He ashed the remainder of his cigarette in container, and lit up another. “I think it’s awfully bigheaded of you to criticise me parenting when your nephew has been abandoning his parental duties and leaving  _ me _ to deal with his estranged wife and his child, and then we have Cyn here whose idea of smoothing things over is to go on the bloody telly and start rambling on about things that are no one’s business to a member of the BBC. In front of you,” he added. “And you have the gall to have a go about me. After everything I’ve bloody done for your family. Including today.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mimi said, her tone prim. 

“Really? You don’t recall that little situation that I had to interject myself in before Cynthia said too much and the press ran with it and lead to poor Henry having a bloody event of some sort?”   
  


“I remember, Daddy,” Heather said, her voice barely audible. “You told the person from the telly that Mummy and I are your family.” 

“That’s because you are,” he assured her. Paul had meant that with all his heart. He just hadn’t appreciated there being a need for his personal business to have gone everywhere. “It’s only that Mummy and I want to protect you, Hettie, that’s all.” He squeezed her hand. 

“Oh, you’re in for it now,” John said, and Paul glanced over at him.    
  


“I’m ‘in for it’?” He repeated, his tone one of non-amusement. “I beg your pardon?”

“No, mate, not you,” he told him. “I was talking to Aunt Mimi. Doesn’t she know better than to set off the child?”   
  


Paul felt himself stiffen. “John, I--”

“I haven’t done anything to upset the child,” Mimi said, her tone rather affronted. “All I did was criticise that comment Paul made. I said nothing at all to the young lady.”   
  


“Cor,” John said, and he nodded in agreement. “But you have to know that she’s sensitive,” he told her. “Every bloody thing you can do sets her off. She doesn’t even like the fans. So there you go making a comment about her precious daddy, and it sends her into a strop.” He rolled his eyes. Paul wanted to clench his fist. “That’s what you get when you engage with them, you know? Paul and Linda, they believe in American parenting. See where it’s got them?”    
  


“Don’t be a bloody wanker,” Paul said. “Just because we’re better at it than you doesn’t mean that not neglecting our child is ‘American parenting’. You’re not concerned about Heather,” he continued. “You could care less about her being sensitive. You just…” He trailed off, and he shrugged his shoulders. “I said hash tray because I wanted to get a rise,” he said. “Not because I wanted Hettie to be a newfound subject of judgement from  _ your _ aunt, especially given the vast lot of things she has to judge you and your wife for, and you and your new...paramour.” He wrinkled his nose. “Have you met Yoko, Mimi?” 

“I can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure,” she answered. “John hasn’t seen fit to introduce us.”

“That’s a shame,” he said. “He’s certainly seen fit to make sure that we lot have had quality time with her.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know that you’d been denied the opportunity.” 

“Yoko is working with us--”

“No,” Paul said. “Yoko is working with you. You just see fit to subject the rest of us to her.” 

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “See what you’ve caused?” He demanded, as he rose off the settee, taking care to take Heather with him, and crossed the room to where Cynthia sat. “Now everyone knows details about my private life that I didn’t particularly want them to know about.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A general reminder that the thoughts portrayed in this story are as typical for the time period in which it is set. This is especially evident in regards to Paul's thoughts on Yoko. These comments and beliefs do not reflect my own.

“So it’s all-bleeding-right for you to bring your American bird and your American daughter into our recording sessions, but you don’t think that courtesy should be extended to Yoko?” John demanded, his tone harsh. “Why? Because she keeps your bed warm at night?” He scoffed. “Paul’s playin’ at being a family man now, did you know that? He’s done with sowing his wild oats, and--”

“Why don’t you sod off?” 

“Picking off Mick Jagger’s sloppy seconds, like--”

“I’ve already punched you once, Lennon,” Paul said flatly. “Do you want to have another go at it? What would your auntie think of you? A posh boy like you that she tried to raise proper-like, getting physical with a bloke from the council estates?”   
  


“I--” 

“Did you know? A funny story,” he continued. “I think it’s interesting that Yoko went after you, you see, she was interested in me, first, and, well, you know me. I wasn’t interested in a woman like that. Jane was still ‘round. She wouldn’t have approved. And I wouldn’t have brought that sort of woman ‘round to me dad and Angie -- no, they wouldn’t stand for that. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you knew that you’re her second choice, and you’re taking it out on me.” 

Paul lit up another ciggie, as Heather positioned herself on his shoulder, having climbed atop him on her own initiative. 

“Don’t be daft,” John blustered. “You wouldn’t have been--”

“She came round, she wanted money,” he said, his tone blase. “I told her I wasn’t interested in supporting her. That I didn’t give out me original lyrics to anyone, and certainly not to her sort.” He shook his head. “I thought it was a bit of a gas, to be honest with you. I never thought that you’d be so utterly arse over tits for the bloody woman. Had I known, I might have given her a few bob.” 

“Jane wouldn’t have cared if you’d stepped out on her,” he said. “The two of you had an arrangement.” 

“Well, you know Jane. Old money, yanno.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Mimi interjected, her tone smooth. “What are the two of you talking about?”

“Nothing, Aunt Mimi,” John said, his tone rather contrite. Paul was almost impressed. “Paul just thinks that I shouldn’t have stepped out on my marriage.”   
  


“What did he mean by ‘that sort of woman’, John?” 

“Oh, go on,” Paul told him, his tone encouraging, and accompanied by a rather large grin. “Mimi wants to know about your new girlfriend, John. Why don’t you tell her? Or better yet? Invite her round? In fact. Why don’t we have Richie invite Mo? George has already invited Pattie--”

“Technically, she invited herself,” George interrupted, his voice carrying nicely from the opposite corner of the room. Paul scowled. 

“Auntie Pattie’s coming?” Heather chimed in, and he glanced up at her. “Oh, Daddy, can’t we stay? I want to see her.”

“I don’t have a problem with that, duck.” 

“Fine,” John said, his tone making it rather clear that he did not consider it to be in any way fine. “I’ll just go up to the control booth and give her a ring.” 

He stalked off in the direction of the control booth, muttering under his breath the entire way. 

Paul didn’t entirely know what he was saying, but he doubted it was pleasant. He’d also decided that he didn’t entirely care what John thought anymore, and he had given up on getting anything even vaguely resembling productive working done. He was tempted to go off to another studio on his own, or with Ringo and George, and actually get some recordings made, but there was no need to punish Heather and Linda over his desire to actually produce music. Even though it was more than okay for John to record things however he wanted, the same was never true for Paul, and he  _ really _ didn’t want to risk John’s erratic behaviour rearing its ugly head around either of his girls. 

“See what you’ve caused?” He demanded, as he rose off the settee, taking care to take Heather with him, and crossed the room to where Cynthia sat. “Now everyone knows details about my private life that I didn’t particularly want them to know about.” 

“I’m not the one who wanted a divorce, Paul.”

“No, you’re the one who decided that she would open her bloody mouth on the telly earlier today,” he reminded her. “I don’t bloody care if John wants to divorce ye. You can’t say you haven’t seen the writing on the wall. You’re the one who’s been burning bridges and ensuring that you can’t go back from this when he gets bored and wants a wife. And then you go ‘round telling Julian that what? You think Hettie and Linda  _ stole _ me from the two of you?”   
  


“I just told him that it would have made sense for you to be his dad, if John was going to go off with that woman, that’s all.”

“I don’t want you, Cyn, John or no John. You were me mate, but now I’m not so sure if you’re even that. Julian, he’s just a kid, but he really upset Hettie with what he said to her. I can’t be okay with that. I’m not okay with it.” 

Cynthia pursed her lips. “I’ve settled before.” 

“It’s not about what you want, yeah? It’s about the fact that you shouldn’t have told him that in the first place and made him think that it was anything approaching reality. I get that things are hard to deal with right now, but I don’t want him saying those things to her.” 

“Paul--”

“This isn’t something that’s up for debate,” he said, his tone firm, as he felt Heather tighten her grasp on him. “Lin and Heather, they come first to me, and nothing that you say will  _ ever _ change that, no  _ matter _ how hard this is on you. Don’t make it worse by isolating yourself further.” 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, though she gazed down at the studio flooring. “I shouldn’t have lead Julian on like that and made him believe that you were going to be his father. I just wanted to say something that would get him to stop carrying on about John.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have.” 

“How was I to know that you’d actually decide to settle down?” 

The question hurt Paul, but he was determined not to let it show. “This is what I’ve wanted, Cyn. This is what I’ve wanted for a bloody long time, and it’s what I’ll continue to want, regardless of whether or not you or anyone else realises that.” He sighed. “Julian? Don’t you have something you want to say to Heather?”

“He doesn’t have to say anything to me,” she whispered, as she snuggled closer to him. “It’s okay, Daddy.”

“I think he need to apologise,” Paul said, his tone firm. “You don’t have to be mates, or anything, but he needs to give you a proper sorry.”

Heather sighed. “Do you have to put me down?” 

“No, luv, you can stay here with me,” he said assuringly. It was important to him that Heather felt secure. “Come ead, Julian.” 

Julian shook his head. “You don’t like me anymore.” 

“That isn’t true,” he told him. “I just don’t think you behaved very appropriately, that’s all.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said. “I just want you to apologise. Then we’ll be sorted.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What would you do?” Paul asked tiredly. “Give him an ultimatum? You know he doesn’t respond kindly to those.” 
> 
> “I would explain that the song needs to be axed,” he spluttered. “Surely anyone with sense would understand why we can’t have that attached to the Beatles’ name?”
> 
> “Does John have sense?” Linda asked, as she climbed off Paul’s lap, allowing him to stand. “I really question the belief that he might. I mean...were you not here today?” 
> 
> “John will bloody start prattling on about how we don’t understand him and Yoko,” Paul said, as he scooped Heather up into his arms, and began pacing around Ringo’s drums. “He’ll be incorrigible, Henry, and I don’t think that we want him to agree to take it off the record,” he continued. “I’d be afraid that they’d release it independently.” 

Linda had never been privy to a less comfortable recording session (if she could even call it that at this stage, which she was privately dubious was the case) than the one that she was currently sat in, and she regretted not heeding her internal warning bells and taking Heather home when they’d seen the crowds, regardless of her daughter’s protests. Not that she was planning on stating anything of the sort out loud. No. The atmosphere was stormy, she supposed, but John and Cynthia’s tempers had died down, and she didn’t want to reignite their attempts at a third World War, not with Heather present. 

Heather was clinging to Paul like she was a little monkey, and Linda took a quick photograph of the two. Their mutual adoration for each other warmed her heart whenever she saw it. 

“You must be Paul’s wife,” the woman who sat on the other end of the davenport said, and she glanced over at her. “I wasn’t aware that he had gotten married. Or that the two of you had hidden a child for so long.” 

“He didn’t,” she said, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’re not. Married. I mean.” 

“Why not? Isn’t that the proper thing to do?” 

“I was married to Heather’s father,” Linda said, her tone matter-of-fact. “We did in fact do the ‘proper thing’, he was just enough of a man to acknowledge the fact that he was ill-prepared to be a parent, or a husband, and we agreed to go our separate ways.” 

“So, you’re a divorcee?” There was an edge of disapproval to the woman’s tone. “Raising a child in a broken home?” 

“I hardly think that that’s any of your concern,” she said. “Heather is perfectly well adjusted, and she and Paul don’t consider our home to be broken, for that matter, neither do I. And I don’t think that you should be judging me when John is behaving in the manner he’s doing so.” 

“I raised John as I saw fit.” 

“Doesn’t that make  _ him _ the product of a broken home?” Linda asked, her tone purposely light. Inwardly, she was seething with rage, but she vowed not to let her anger show. This was John’s aunt, the woman who had set her life aside to raise him, not her father, whom she could mouth off to with no consequence. “I don’t understand why you’re daring to judge how I raise my child when the child you raised has caused situations like this.” She gestured at the other people in the room. “Heather doesn’t come in here and ruin every single recording session because she doesn’t know how to behave in a proper manner,” she told her. “She’s not the one who doesn’t want his son and the woman who married him to have enough money to  _ exist _ now that he’s found someone new and shiny.” She drew in a deep breath. “And you dare to judge me?”

“Well,” Mimi said. “I just think that Paul could do better.” 

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” she said. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.” 

“Leave her alone,” George interjected. “It’s not as if Paul’s relationships affect you in any way, now, is it? If he wants to be in a relationship with a proper American bird, why not let him? Even if she’s got a kid. There’s nothing wrong with that. She’s not a bad child. She keeps us in line.” 

“He’s exposing her to your  _ recording _ sessions,” she spluttered. “Is this any place to bring a child?” 

George shrugged his shoulders. “If you ask me, I’m a bit zen about it, you know? I reckon that there are worse things she could be doing. Have you heard of Hare Krishna?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Oh, so you haven’t? Don’t worry. I’ll tell you all about it. I can’t believe John hasn’t told you about our time with the Maharishi, Mimi.”

If looks could have killed, Mimi Smith’s would have definitely killed George. 

“I don’t recall asking--”   
  
“I think it’s a lovely idea,” Linda said, and she stood up from the settee, allowing George to take her seat. “I’m going to catch up with Paul.”

“He’s over with Richie,” George said, a helpful edge to his tone. “I believe that he’s showing Heather how to play drums.” 

* * *

  
  
  


“Mummy’s here,” Heather announced, from her position perched on Ringo’s lap, and he offered Linda a genial smile when she came into his field of sight, and settled herself on Paul’s lap. “Hi Mummy. Uncle Ringo’s teaching me how to be the bestest drummer in the whole wide world.”   
  


“Is he now?” Linda asked. “That’s exciting, luv. Maybe you’ll have your own contract.”

“A recording contract?” Heather asked, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Like one like Daddy’s got?” 

Ringo wasn’t sure how to respond, so he glanced over at Paul. “Well, maybe when you’re older, love,” Paul said after a moment. “Right now, it’s just for fun, right? You’re just having a go at ‘em?”

She nodded. “I like coming to work to see you, Daddy.” 

Paul smiled at her. “I like when you come to work to see me. You and your mum.” 

Ringo let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t naive enough to think that the calm that had settled over the studio was anything that would last, but he vowed to enjoy it while it did. He finally had an excuse to play the drums (even if it was only due to Heather’s presence) without anyone being able to complain about it, and he was going to enjoy it. 

“Thank you for letting me play the drums with you, Uncle Ringo,” Heather said, and she switched her gaze from Paul to him. “I know that you and Daddy are meant to be working on your album.”   
  


“It’s not any trouble,” he promised her, and he gestured around the studio. “You see that we’re not recording, right?” 

She nodded, and she hit the cymbal with impressive force, the crash of the instrument accented by the sound of her laughter. 

Paul had relaxed visibly, much to Ringo’s relief. He didn’t blame Paul for being annoyed that they seemed incapable of getting on with things and finishing up the LP, and he certainly didn’t blame Paul for wanting Yoko out of the studio, and he really couldn’t blame him for being rather disgruntled about whatever it was that had led to the situation everyone was now in, that Ringo felt entirely grateful to have missed, but his time away from the band had led to Ringo deciding that he would remain a member, but didn’t see much point in speaking up and causing row after row. There wasn’t really a point. Tempers would fray and harsh words would be said, and nothing would be accomplished but bruised egos and -- Ringo had to say -- literal bruises. 

He could see that the punch John had landed on Paul had left an impressive mark. 

Not that the bassist seemed to be paying his injury any mind. Paul was intently focused on Heather, as she pounded away on the drums. 

“You don’t want to learn the bass, duck?” 

“I do,” she insisted. “But the drums are loud. Louder than they were when they were fighting.” 

“Surely they weren’t fighting--” Ringo attempted to interject. 

“You weren’t there Uncle Ringo,” Heather informed him. “They  _ were _ fighting. And about  _ stupid  _ things. Why would they want a pool that costs seventy-five  _ thousand _ quid? Isn’t that loads of money?”

“Hettie, maybe we shouldn’t talk about those things in mixed company,” Paul said. “Mummy and I will explain when we get home.” 

“But I want to know now.”   
  


So did Ringo. He felt decidedly out of the loop. 

Paul lit up a cigarette. “He didn’t mean like a swimming pool,” he said after a moment. “The pools are where you go to make money. It was a rude comment that John made to get a rise out of Cynthia.” 

“So there isn’t going to be a swimming pool?” 

Paul shook his head. “I’m afraid not.” 

Heather pouted. “But I  _ want _ a swimming pool.”

“Well that pool wouldn’t be yours, anyways,” Ringo interjected. “It would be...well, who the bloody hell knows whose it would be in this situation. You’d be better off seeing if your dad and your mum wanted to have one built. It’s going to be too cold for one soon, anyroad.” 

Heather scrunched up her nose, clearly contemplating what he said. “That makes sense, Uncle Ringo. Is it really going to get cold out? Da?”

Paul nodded. “Yeah, Hettie. England’s really not a great place to have a pool. I’m sorry.”

Heather scrambled off of Ringo’s lap and made a beeline to the amplifier that Paul and Linda were sat on, her arms outstretched. “It’s not your fault,” she said, in what he suspected was an attempt to whisper, but really wasn’t very quiet. “I don’t care if we have a pool.”   
  


“We can go on holiday to somewhere warm,” Paul told her. “When we’re sorted with the LP.”

“You promise?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I promise,” he said. “Not that I have any idea when that will be,” he added. “Maybe sometime next century?”

Heather giggled. “You’re silly.” 

“Well, if only there was a solution to your problem,” George Martin interjected. Ringo tried his best to hide his surprise. He hadn’t seen their producer in the room at all. “Could there possibly be one? It’s on the tip of my tongue.”

“I said no,” Paul said. “We want a double LP.” 

“I’m just saying, Paul, it  _ would _ solve your problems,” he continued. “We have enough songs on acetate to complete a single LP, and  _ surely _ it would be more warmly received by the general public--”   
  


“I said no,” he repeated. “We’ve discussed this. We want the double LP, and we want Capitol to leave it unaltered. They did it with Sergeant Pepper, they can bloody well do it with this.” 

“I understand you want the double LP,” he said. “I just wish that you would look at things from my point of view, Paul, and recognise that what  _ you _ want, and what the group wants, and what the  _ public _ wants are entirely different things. Did you not learn from Magical Mystery Tour? You were panned by the BBC!”

“So? Sod the BBC.” 

“I agree with him,” Ringo said. “Not so much about sodding the BBC,” he added hastily, as both Paul and Henry turned to stare at him. “Do you really think that we could handle a single LP, Henry? We’ve barely been getting on as it is. John would probably want to put that ear bleeder track he did with Yoko as the opening track.” 

“He wouldn’t dare.”   
  


“What would you do?” Paul asked tiredly. “Give him an ultimatum? You know he doesn’t respond kindly to those.” 

“I would explain that the song needs to be axed,” he spluttered. “Surely anyone with sense would understand why we can’t have  _ that _ attached to the Beatles’ name?”   
  


“Does John have sense?” Linda asked, as she climbed off Paul’s lap, allowing him to stand. “I really question the belief that he might. I mean...were you not here today?” 

“John will bloody start prattling on about how we don’t understand him and Yoko,” Paul said, as he scooped Heather up into his arms, and began pacing around Ringo’s drums. “He’ll be incorrigible, Henry, and I don’t think that we  _ want _ him to agree to take it off the record,” he continued. “I’d be afraid that they’d release it independently.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“As a solo recording,” he elaborated. “Can you imagine?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Henry said. “John has more sense than that.”

“He could put it on that album he and Yoyo want to release,” Heather chimed in, her head nestled on Paul’s shoulder. “Daddy said I wasn’t allowed to look at the photos they want to put on the cover.”

“What is she talking about?” 

“Nothing, Henry,” Paul said. “I’m going to talk him out of it.” 

“Why isn’t she allowed to look at the sleeve?” 

Ringo couldn’t help but notice that Paul had turned an impressively bright shade of red at the question, and he wondered if he should have properly looked at the photographic proofs that John and Yoko had dropped off at Sunny Heights before shoving them atop a cupboard. He just hadn’t been willing to bother looking at something that he didn’t really much care for. He’d assumed that John would get board of his latest idea and paid it no further thought. 

“There are...things that Lin and I don’t want her to see on them,” Paul said, his tone hedging. “Things that would warrant a paper bag.” 

“What? Drugs?” 

Paul shook his head. “No, not drugs,” he said. “I don’t really think this is the appropriate time to discuss this.”

“Because of Heather?”

“No, not because of Heather,” he told him. “I don’t want her to see them, she is bloody well aware as to why. I just feel that if we’re discussing this…” He trailed off. “It should be his decision. Have them send me a Scotch?” 

“What?” 

“Go ask John what he wants to have happen,” Paul instructed. “And send them to get me an’ my baby a Scotch.” 

“Where  _ is _ John, anyways?” 

“In the control booth,” Ringo said. “He’s ringing Yoko, I reckon.” 

George Martin let out a rather heavy sigh. “I see.” 

“Well, go on up then,” Paul said. “Ask ‘im. I’m certainly not going to be the one to bring it up.” 

* * *

  
  


“I can’t not bloody be around them,” John was heard speaking into the telephone, and George Martin managed not to sigh audibly. He had begged the boys to behave with some level of decorum, but had long since given up on it in their private lives. “What am I meant to do, Mother? Leave them here?”

Yoko’s voice could be heard from the other end of the phone. “I told you, John, you needed to offer them the money and be done with it. Why isn’t the money good enough for her?” 

“It’s not only Cyn and Julian that are here,” he said. “It’s me aunt. Am I supposed to sod the whole lot of them just because you think they’re detrimental to me?” 

“John--” 

“Just a moment, Henry,” John said, his tone brusque, and the look on his face made George Martin reconsider his plan of attack. “I’ve told you, Mother, they’re me family. I love you, but you’re not the sole person I give my affections to. Aren’t fathers meant to care about their sons?” 

“Julian was a mistake, you yourself said that,” she said, her tone rather simpering. “How many times do I have to tell you not to listen to Paul? He poisons your mind and makes you think that  _ you’re _ the problem, when in reality it’s them.” 

“Paul’s me mate--”

“If he was  _ really _ your friend, he wouldn’t tell you that you need to behave differently, now, would he?” 

George didn’t dare make another sound, and he elected to walk around the control room while John was on the phone, thoroughly unamused by what he was hearing, and at the state of the room itself. Packets that had once contained cigarettes littered the floor, and he bit back a sigh, crossing the room to the rubbish bin and allowing himself the privilege of giving the room a tidy. Someone had to, didn’t they? 

The fact that there was a bag of what looked like to be sugar on the chair beside John did nothing to improve his mood. There was no need to bring such things into the studio. Was John planning on eating it? If he wanted a cup of tea, he could bloody well get it from the canteen, same as everyone else. 

“I’ll be throwing this out,” he informed him, brandishing the offending condiment. “When you’re done with your telephone call, I need you in the studio.”

“You can’t -- that’s me junk,” John protested. “I need it to keep me straight.”

“John, you cannot have this much  _ sugar _ around the equipment, and I--” He drew in a deep breath. “I will take this downstairs with me,” he said, his tone firm. “If you’re not down there in ten minutes, I’ll send Mal after you.” 

The only response that John dignified him with was a rude gesture, but George elected to pay him no mind. The conversation that he’d overheard had been worrisome enough, and that was without adding whatever  _ junk _ was to the situation. 

George Martin knew perfectly well that the Beatles enjoyed a fair amount of drug use, but he had  _ never _ seen the substance that John had been using before, in or out of the studio, and that concerned him. 

He took the stairs back into the recording studio with a great amount of speed, not caring about the looks that his haste garnered him as he made his entrance. George Harrisons’ wife had shown up while he had been upstairs lecturing John, and it was all he could do to offer her what he desperately hoped was a polite smile, before he practically threw himself on Paul, who was sprawled out on the largest settee in the room, head on Linda’s lap, and little Heather nowhere in sight. A glance around the studio revealed that she and Julian had crowded around Pattie, who had a rather large box of chocolates in her possession. He breathed a sigh of relief. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with the immediate presence of children.

“What’s gotten into you?” Paul demanded. “What have you done with Lennon? I thought you were bringing him down?” 

“He’s on the phone with that  _ dreadful _ woman,” he informed him. “He’s calling her Mother!” 

“I told you, he’s gone and lost it,” Paul muttered, exhaling a rather impressive plume of smoke. “John’s mother was a nutter too. They didn’t particularly practice a traditional relationship.” 

“I don’t think we have time to delve into John’s psyche,” he told him. “What is this? Do you know?” He brandished the bag in Paul’s direction. “I thought it was sugar, but John’s informed me that it’s something called junk.”

“What are you talking about?” Paul questioned. “John had that?” 

“Yes,” he said. “He had this upstairs. What the hell have you lot gotten into now?” 

“I haven’t done that stuff,” he told him. “Lin and I, we just do hash. We don’t do hard stuff like that, we have a child to worry about.”

“What is ‘that stuff’?” 

“You know, Henry, junk, you’ve never heard of it?”

“It’s another word for heroin,” Linda informed him. “If John’s on heroin, that might explain a lot of his behaviours.” 

“Heroin.”   
  


“Looks like it,” she said. “Where did he get it from?”

“I don’t know.”

Paul scoffed. “Probably from Yoko. Have you seen her? She always seems strung out. And John, you know, he’s always been trying to fill a void. He’s very susceptible.”

George Martin drew in a deep breath. “That’s it,” he said. “This behaviour is unacceptable. I’m going to book John a room in the Priory.”

“Why are you going to do that?” John’s aunt demanded. “Just because the three of you think he’s on drugs? John wouldn’t do those things.”

“We’ve  _ always _ done ‘those things’,” Paul informed her. “John’s worse than all of us. If you’re not going to help, why don’t you just leave?”

“I don’t want to leave, Paul,” Cynthia interjected. “I brought her. If John’s on...that, maybe he needs the Priory.”

“You don’t have to leave,” George told her. “However…”

“She can take British Rail,” Paul said. “Hettie will be so jealous. Good thing she and Jules are distracted by the box of Good News.” 

“British Rail,” Mimi said, her tone filled with disdain. “Why would you put me on that?”

“I was going to have Peter Brown bring you home,” he interjected. “No one will be taking British Rail. The children have been given a box of Good News…?” 

“Pattie brought round a few,” Paul informed him. “What’s the problem with that?”

He banished the thought of children running through the corridors of the studios from his mind for the moment, mainly because he had spotted John attempting to be invisible by the doorway, and rationalised that John’s issues took precedent over everything else. 

“Come in, John,” he said. “We just want to have a little chat. That’s all.”

“About what?” John demanded. 

“About your new album,” he lied. “I haven’t heard about it. Don’t you want to tell me so I can prepare the censors?” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s the big deal?” Paul repeated, as John watched him deposit Heather on the settee beside her mother. “Are you bloody taking the bloody piss with me now?” 
> 
> “I just don’t think it’s worth getting your knickers in a twist,” John said, electing for honesty. “We all have our vices. Just because Yoko’s the one who started me on it and not you, mate, you don’t need to be jealous.” 
> 
> Paul clenched his fists, and his nostrils flared. “Has it occurred to you that I have better things to do than be your bloody minder? Day in and day out, you manage to behave as if you are an actual child, with little bloody regard to anything that might vaguely resemble consequence? When people dare to question the wisdom of John Lennon, you twist our words ‘round and try to pin everything we say on your relationship with Yoko.”

John had mainly come downstairs to get the junk back from Henry, whom he knew perfectly well had no idea what he’d been handling, and he was only willing to concede to the conversation about the LP he and Yoko had done in order to get his drugs back with as minimal interaction as possible. He really didn’t want to draw attention to it.

At the same time, he really wanted  _ someone _ to approve of the bloody LP, and no one had been even vaguely enthused about the project, with the exception of himself and Yoko. Henry asking him about Unfinished Music did soothe his ego. 

“Right,” he said, and he slunk into the room. “What did you want to know about it?” 

“Just a moment, John,” Henry said. “Your aunt was just readying herself to leave, weren’t you, Mrs. Smith?” 

“I’m certainly not travelling home on British Rail,” Mimi said in reply, an evident edge to her tone. “I would hope that you’d provide me with a suitable driver, Mr. Martin.”

“I am,” he said. “Peter Brown. He’s coming around with a car.” 

“Aw, she doesn’t have to go,” John insisted. “It’s only me willy. Why can’t she see it? She’s seen it before!”

“John!” Paul exclaimed. “The children!”

“I’m not going to whip it out in front of them,” he assured him. “You ought to lighten up, Macca. Are you saying that you haven’t exposed young Heather to  _ your _ version of Swinging London?” 

“That is inappropriate, John. How could you say those things in front of me?” Aunt Mimi demanded. “Just because they’re bringing up the child in a  _ modern _ home, they can’t  _ possibly  _ be as uncouth as what you’re describing, young man.” 

“Oh, come off it, Mimi,” he said. “We’re just having a laugh. Surely you don’t think that Paul and Linda’s situation is very appropriate, though, given how you felt about me mum and Twitchy? Not the right place to raise a proper young lad, was it? Just because me mum was shacking up with a bloke who wasn’t me dad?” 

“Your mother was unfit to parent you,” Mimi said, her tone prim. “You know that as well as I do, John.”

“Was she? Or did you just decide that because you didn’t like that she was ‘living in sin’? What’s the difference between Paul and Mum?” John demanded. “Is it different because he’s the bloke?”

“Your uncle and I gave you a good life, John, and I won’t apologise for it,” she said. “How dare you hold the fact that I only  _ ever _ wanted what was best for you over me as if I should be  _ ashamed _ of what we did? I’m not going to apologise from removing you from that environment. I highly doubt that Paul and his girlfriend are  _ committing indecent acts _ in the same bed as that girl.”

“That’s bollocks,” he spat. “You never wanted me around Mum, and she’s dead now, isn’t she? You didn’t even let Julia and Jacqui live with Twitchy when she bit it.”

“They weren’t married, John, it wasn’t proper. It wouldn’t have been proper had they  _ been _ married.”

“Sod being proper,” he said. “What’s the difference? Come on, there’s got to be one. Get on with it.”

“What Paul does in his private life is none of my concern, John Winston Lennon,” she said, her tone rather pointed. “For what it’s worth? I certainly think that either one of them is more fit to parent than  _ either _ of your parents was.” 

“I told me mum that I wanted to come back and live with her!” John exclaimed. “You made her give me back to you. You didn’t care what I wanted.”

She shook her head. “Is that what Julia told you, John?” 

“Of course it’s what she told me,” he said. “Because it’s the bloody truth.”

“She didn’t want you,” Mimi said. “Bobby...he didn’t want to raise another man’s son. She picked him over you, and she did it again, and again. She was doing it the day that she died, John.”

John shook his head. “You’re wrong. Mum loved me.”

“Your mother had problems, John,” she said. “I don’t doubt that she loved you, she just…” Mimi trailed off. “Sometimes love isn’t enough, John.”

“I thought that Peter Brown was meant to be bringing you home,” John told her, after he discarded what he had originally wanted to say in favour of something that was slightly less likely to send his aunt into a snit that would distract everyone from the discussion of his new record, and hurt her feelings in the process. “Why don’t you wait outside for him?”

“John--”

“Don’t bloody John me,” he said. “I am so bloody tired of being bloody John-ed. You don’t have to make up lies about Mum and Twitchy when they’re not even here to mount a bloody defence.”

“Would it be a defence? Or would it be another falsehood?”

“It doesn’t bloody matter.” He shook his head. “I’ll see you, Mimi. Thanks for coming ‘round.”

Mimi appeared to have been rendered speechless at her dismissal, and John made a mental note to apologise to her later, once he had taken a bump and mellowed out a bit. He could admit that he had been somewhat harsh in his tone. She was his aunt, after all. There  _ was _ always the possibility -- however slight -- that what she had said was the truth.

“What are you all bloody looking at?” He demanded. 

Everyone in the recording studio seemed to be staring at him, from Henry to Paul, to the birds, down to the children, who had a giant box of candy in their hands, and yet found him entirely more interesting. 

No one dared to utter a word. 

“I’m sorry that your mum died,” little Heather said after a moment, just before he was going to repeat his question. “Daddy’s mum died. He doesn’t like to talk about her much.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “It was a long time ago.” 

“Do you want some candy?” Heather asked, glancing up at him for a moment before she refocused her gaze on the studio’s floor. “Maybe it will make you feel better?”

“Sure,” he said. “Pick one out for me. Whatever you want.”

Paul eyed John and Heather warily from across the room, and John shot a smirk at his bandmate. He wasn’t going to hurt the lass, after all. John may have been jonesing for a fix, but he wasn’t going to be an arsehole to someone who didn’t deserve his vitriol. He didn’t understand what Paul saw in either Linda or Heather, but, well, it wasn’t like Paul understood what he saw in Yoko, either. He supposed that it was fair. 

“Mummy says that when I get angry I need to eat,” Heather informed him, as she slipped her hand into his, and gave him a shy smile. The smile that he gave in return was genuine, unlike the one he’d given her father a moment before. “Maybe you’re just hungry, Uncle John?” 

“I need a fix,” John told her. “Do you know where me junk is?”

“John!” Paul protested, and John scowled, watching him heave himself off the settee. 

All he’d done was ask the girl a question, after all. It wasn’t as if he’d  _ offered _ any of it to her. He knew better. 

Heather shot him a confused look. “I don’t know what that is.” 

“Cor, sure you do,” he said. “Keeps me right as rain. Enhances me pleasant demeanour?” 

Paul reached the twosome, and he wordlessly scooped Heather into his arms, box of sweets and all. “We have it,” he informed John. “You shouldn’t be troubling the children with questions they don’t know the answers to.” 

“What  _ is _ junk, Daddy?” Heather asked him. “Does he mean sweets? I shared me candy with him.” 

Paul kissed the top of her head. “That was very sweet of you, Hettie. Junk’s something different, though.” He sighed. “Come ead,” he said to John. “Have some scotch. We need to have a chat.”

“Oh, come off it,” he groused. “Henry wants to talk about my new record. Why do you have to get in on it?” 

“You just asked my child if she had your drugs!” Paul exclaimed, his tone barely above a whisper, though there was a degree of heat in it that John had never heard him use before. “I don’t care if you were having a laugh, John, you can’t be leaving things like that around the studio. What if Heather had gotten into them? What if someone didn’t know what it was and had dosed everyone during tea?” 

“Aw, come off it, Macca,” he said. “No one got into it. You wouldn’t even have known if Henry hadn’t stuck his nose in me business.” 

“That doesn’t change the fact that you brought heroin into the studio without telling anyone!” 

“What’s the big deal?” 

“What’s the big deal?” Paul repeated, as John watched him deposit Heather on the settee beside her mother. “Are you bloody taking the bloody piss with me now?” 

“I just don’t think it’s worth getting your knickers in a twist,” John said, electing for honesty. “We all have our vices. Just because Yoko’s the one who started me on it and not you, mate, you don’t need to be jealous.” 

Paul clenched his fists, and his nostrils flared. “Has it occurred to you that I have better things to do than be your bloody minder? Day in and day out, you manage to behave as if you are an actual child, with little bloody regard to anything that might  _ vaguely _ resemble consequence? When people dare to question the wisdom of John Lennon, you twist our words ‘round and try to pin  _ everything _ we say on your relationship with Yoko.”

“Well, it’s not like you approve of her--”

“Why the -- John, you’ve got to be taking the piss,” Paul said. He drew in a deep breath. “Why would  _ any  _ of us accept your relationship with Yoko when she’s gotten you into  _ junk _ and who knows what else?”

“He’s not wrong, John.”   
  


“Oh, what the bloody hell do you know?” John demanded. “I’m surprised he didn’t end up with you, given how bloody domesticated you both are.” 

“You won’t even let Mo and Pattie come ‘round anymore,” Cynthia interjected. “Apparently they’re ‘not allowed’ to be me mates? What makes you think you’d treat me any better if I’d set my sights on Paul?”

“Paul’s been ignoring me--”

“Will you both be quiet?” George Martin demanded. “Honestly, John, I can’t let this slide,” he said. “The incident on the roof was one thing. You told me it was a one time lapse in judgement that would not happen again.” 

“Junk isn’t acid, Henry. I wasn’t lying.” 

“Don’t try to pull something with me,” he snapped. “Did you not learn anything from what happened with Brian, John? Do you want to end up like that?” 

“What? You’re asking if I want to end up a queer?” 

“I’m asking if you want to be found dead of a drugs overdose,” he corrected him. “John, this is reckless! This isn’t something to make light of!”

John shook his head. “What is this? A bloody intervention?” 

“I’m sending you to the Priory,” he told him. “I don’t care how long it takes for you to get this, and that woman, out of your system.” 

* * *

  
  


“I’m not going to the bleeding Priory,” John informed him, and Paul bit back a sigh. “Did you have something to add, mate?” 

“Yeah, you know, I did,” he said, after a moment of thought. “I don’t think that you recognise the seriousness of this, John. You really could end up like Brian, or worse, and you don’t seem to care. You’ve always been reckless, yeah, but this is an entirely different level.”

“I’m not bloody being reckless,” John told him. “I don’t understand why it’s okay for you to change but when I move on from what’s wrong with my life everyone gives me the bloody third degree.” 

“I don’t think that’s a fair comparison,” he said, and he forced himself to remain calm. Paul wanted to give John the bollocksing that he deserved, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so around Heather, who for some reason Paul couldn’t figure out, adored the older man. He didn’t want her to think that violence was the answer to problems, anyway. Or be afraid that she’d be at the receiving end of a wallop. “First off, you didn’t bloody like Jane. You were horrible to her, too. Second off, my deciding to build a family with Linda and Heather is in  _ no way _ comparable to you doing hard drugs, John, and you know that perfectly well.”

“We can’t all be the bloody hero, you know.” 

“No one’s saying you have to be a hero,” he said. “If you want to divorce Cynthia? That’s your choice. We’re saying that we don’t want you to be on heroin, which is an entirely fair thing for us to want.” 

“What’s he talking about, Daddy?” Heather questioned, and Paul felt her wrap her arms around his waist. He unclenched his fist and reached his palm out to stroke her hair. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, poppet,” he whispered. “We’re just having an adult conversation.” 

“Is Uncle John mad that you’re me da?”

“No, of course not,” he assured her. “That would be a ridiculous thing for him to have an opinion on, which he of course knows.” 

“She asked me, you know,” John interjected. 

“No she didn’t,” Paul said. “She wanted me to reassure her that I don’t listen to a bloody word that comes out of your bleeding mouth.” 

To say that Paul was losing his patience with John would have been both an understatement and putting it mildly, but he drew in another breath and forced himself to remain centred. He wrapped his arms around Heather. She was his priority, not John, and he wasn’t planning on apologising for it. 

“Why are you being so mean to me?” Heather asked, though her voice was somewhat muffled by the fact that she’d buried her face against the leg of his trousers. “I shared the sweets with him, Daddy,” she added.

“He’s a bloody arsehole,” Paul said in response. “Don’t you pay him any mind, duck.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “He ought to be apologising to you, luv, but, I reckon he won’t.” 

“You want me to apologise to her?” John echoed, his tone incredulous. “You’re daft. You’ve gone and lost it, McCartney. You’ve got to be having a laugh?”

“I wasn’t joking,” he told him. “She’s got feelings too, you know.”   
  


“She’s a child, Paul. You ought to be belting those thoughts out of her. I reckon you’ve gone soft on us.”

Paul was certainly not planning on beating Heather, and the implication that she was merely the one who needed a firm hand to correct her behaviour when it was frankly John’s behaviour that needed correction filled him with a white hot rage, a feeling that only intensified when he saw the look on John’s face.

“Sod off about me daughter, and about how Linda and I are choosing to raise her,” he said, in a growl instead of the nice, calm, tone he had thought in his head. “If you’d ever bothered to be a proper parent to Julian, maybe then I would entertain your thoughts on my daughter -- your attempts at  _ parenting _ my daughter. But you never did, did you? No, wasn’t that Cynthia’s job? Isn’t parenting a task that you view as best left to the mum? I mean, I reckon that was why you were okay with Cyn and Jules being hidden away on Menlove with your auntie, and then at Brian’s flat when locking them away in Liverpool had managed to be bollocksed up? And don’t you dare spew that line of bollocks about how Brian told you that you were meant to do what he thought was best for the band,” he continued, as he took a hearty gulp of his Scotch. 

“You were our leader,” he spat. “And we all bloody well know how Brian felt about you. Don’t even try to deny it. Not that has  _ any _ bearing on the subject at hand, with the exception of the fact that all you needed to do was say that hiding your son, and your wife, was unacceptable. What would Brian have done? Sod. All. And you bloody well knew it. You just decided you didn’t care.” He took another sip of the drink.

“Why would I?” John asked. “Being married, you know, it’s a drag. I didn’t have Africa to escape to like some lucky sod--”   
  


“That’s enough,” Linda interjected. “I don’t appreciate you dragging Joseph into your latest attempt to defend yourself, John.” 

“No one bloody asked you! You think you’re entitled to your opinion?” 

Paul bristled at John’s tone. It was bad enough when John spoke like that to him, or to George or Ringo. Paul barely considered that acceptable towards them. It was decidedly unacceptable for him to speak to Linda like that. 

“I do when it’s about me, or about my family,” she insisted, as she rose from her seat, and pried Heather off Paul. “Go sit with George and Pattie, darling.” 

John scoffed. “Your family? He’s meant to be  _ my _ brother, Lin, and you and Heather seem to think it’s okay to have gone and changed ‘im on me.” 

Linda had closed the gap between her and John. Her anger was evident. 

“Paul hasn’t changed, John. If anyone’s changed, it’s you, and the fact that you’ve gone and gotten yourself on junk certainly does do a bang up job of explaining that.” 

John rolled his eyes. “Of course he’s changed.” There was a challenge evident in his tone. “Certainly can’t be arsed to keep his old lady in line. You’d never get away with that cheek of yours if you were with me.”

“What would you do? Take off your belt and whip me?” 

“I’d do to you what I did to Paul. Since the two of you fancy yourself to be equals.” John’s tone was casual. Too casual, if you asked Paul. “Except, I’d make sure that I’d left a mark.” 

“Are you saying you’d hit me?” 

“I’m saying, the saying goes, write what you know, doesn’t it? I wrote what I knew. Why don’t you go ask Cyn? Bet she’d tell you I only did it the once.” 

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Paul said. “If you want to bloody hit someone, go ahead. Hit me.”

“No one is hitting anyone,” George Martin said. “Come on, John. We’re going.”   
  
“You can get fucked,” John told him. “I’m not going to the bloody Priory. You can’t make me.” 

“You’re right,” he said. “I can’t make you.”

“I can,” Cynthia said. “You’re out of control, John. You need help. We’re still married. I have those rights.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you so much as set a toe out of the facility or out of line, that will be the end of you. I don’t care if we have to make Linda sing and play the damned guitar.”
> 
> “You’re bluffing,” John said, but there was a catch to his tone. “You wouldn’t.”
> 
> “Wouldn’t I?” 
> 
> “She doesn’t even know how to bloody play!”
> 
> “That doesn’t matter. I’m sure Paul could have her sorted in no time.”
> 
> “In the meantime, Henry, there’s always Eric,” George said. “He’s fine to be around, a professional. He’d do all right with us, I reckon.”
> 
> John sputtered. Paul had the sense to hide his grin behind his hand. 
> 
> “Eric Clapton? Eric Clapton? You’d rather him in my band than me?"

“Are you serious?” John demanded. “I don’t have to bloody listen to you, Cyn, and you know that.”

“Oh, you will be listening to her,” Paul informed him. “Go, John, and go quietly, without a fuss.” 

“Or what? You’ll pummel me?”

“You’d deserve it,” he said, and he glanced over at Heather, who was tucked in between George and Pattie, before he returned his gaze to John. “If you don’t go to the Priory, I’m out of the band.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

Paul wanted to smack the sneer off John’s face, but he settled for taking a deep breath. If John didn’t think that Paul wasn’t willing to quit the band over this, he was more deluded than Paul had ever dreamed. He loved the Beatles. He certainly didn’t want to  _ stop _ being a Beatle. He just loved Linda and Heather more. 

“Wouldn’t I?”

“What? Over some bloody drugs? Don’t worry, your precious darling wouldn’t have gotten her mitts on them. I’d have sorted her if she did.” 

“You’re not allowed ‘round Heather unless you kick the junk,” he told him. “Sod the band. She’s what’s important to me. I don’t want her to be in an environment where she’s exposed to you tweaked out on junk, or around that horrible enabler you call your ‘soulmate’. When did you start this new habit of yours?”

“Yoko told me that it would increase me creativity,” John said, his pride evident in his tone. “That it would open new doors to me.”

“And you didn’t question that?” 

“Like you’re one to talk,” John stammered. “What about you? Swanning around with the bird from our Sgt. Pepper’s photoshoot and playing house? She’s a glorified groupie, you know.” 

“This isn’t about my relationship with Linda,” Paul said, as he forced himself to ignore John’s comments about Linda’s fidelity to him, and her job. “Lin’s great, though. I really love her. You’d probably like her, too, if you weren’t strung out all the bleeding time.”

“Right, well, Linda gave you your ready made family,” he said. “Yoko gave me something to replace the loss of my creativity. That’s all. There’s not a real difference between us two.”

Paul sighed. “What are you talking about?” 

“Well, you can write songs about your new family,” John said, his tone revealing that he thought Paul was missing some brilliant thought of his that made perfect sense, while Paul felt very confused. “I can write songs about me new muse.”

“Junk?” 

He nodded. “Cor.” 

“We’re not releasing a song about  _ junk _ , John,” Paul said. “For god’s sake. Have some common sense. What would people say?”

“I dunno, Macca. What’d they say?” 

“Why don’t we drop your bloody  _ Revolution Number Nine _ as a single, eh, mate?” Paul suggested, not actually intending to do such a fiscally suicidal thing. “We could bill it as ‘The Beatles with Junk’. I reckon it’ll sell millions. We’d go platinum.” 

“We will do no such thing,” George Martin insisted. “Come on, John, off you go. We’ll want to do this now, while the press is still fixated on their unexpected announcement from Paul.” 

“Why would we want to do it now?” John demanded. “Surely this would sell papers.” 

“Because the patients at the  _ Priory _ don’t need the bloody Apple Scruffs, or that poor excuse you have for a girlfriend, disturbing their rest and recovery,” he told him, and Paul managed not to snort at the older man’s use of the term. “Far better that the press have their little press blitz about Paul, Linda, and Heather. It’s a much suitable use of people’s brainpower to read about a lovely little Beatle family.”

“What do I care?” 

“Oh, you will care, John,” George Martin said. “I am fed up with this behaviour of yours, and even less thrilled that it is the result of your foolish decision to not only take up a relationship with a heroin addict, but also to start doing the drug itself. You are going to the Priory, where you will be admitted and treated, for as long as you need -- for as long as the doctors in the facility think you need,” he amended. “And if you so much as set a toe out of the facility or out of line, that will be the end of you. I don’t care if we have to make Linda sing and play the damned guitar.”   
  


“You’re bluffing,” John said, but there was a catch to his tone. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” 

“She doesn’t even know how to bloody play!”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m sure Paul could have her sorted in no time.”

“In the meantime, Henry, there’s always Eric,” George said. “He’s fine to be around, a professional. He’d do all right with us, I reckon.”

John sputtered. Paul had the sense to hide his grin behind his hand. 

“Eric Clapton? Eric Clapton? You’d rather him in my band than me? I take back what I said about Paul’s missus. At least she’d be panned by the papers.”

“That’s quite enough from you, John,” Henry said. “I think it’s time to go.”

* * *

  
  


“What a bloody mess,” George said, as he watched the car that contained George Martin, Cynthia, and John drive away, through the studio window. “I want to say that this wasn’t my intention. I never saw this coming.”

“Never?” Pattie asked him. “What are we meant to do with Julian?” 

“I thought we’d just let him sleep,” George offered, and he shrugged his shoulders. “Do we really need to do anything in particular with him?” 

“Well, of course we just let him have a kip now,” Pattie said. “There’s really no need to wake him. It’s just...he can’t spend the night here, can he?” 

“Why not? We’ve practically spent the night here before.”

“Doing what?” 

“Well, we’d be recording, of course,” he said. “I don’t see why he can’t just spend the night on the settee. I don’t think anyone would disturb our studio.”

Pattie shrugged her shoulders. “What else can we do with him?”

“Are you bloody daft?” Paul demanded from his position on the settee. George jumped at the sound of his bandmate’s voice. He’d assumed that he was soundly asleep, given that he had settled across the length of the couch and elected to use Linda’s lap as a pillow, actions which had caused Heather to slip away from him and Pattie to rejoin her parents. “Julian is a child. You can’t let him stay here overnight by himself.”

“Why not? Would you let Heather?” Pattie asked. George knew better. 

“No, I bloody well wouldn’t let Hettie,” he said, his annoyance clear. “She’s also a child. Children need to be minded.”

“What? Even while they sleep?” 

“It’s not like Linda and I sit vigil outside her bedroom door, but, yes, even when they’re sleeping,” Paul said, and he gave her a sour look. “One of you lot better put him up for the night, if she doesn’t come back for him,” he said. “You do recognise that it would be impossible for me to convince Heather that he be welcomed in our home?” 

“Why would it be?” Pattie asked. George managed to maintain a neutral expression. “I mean, you’re the one who’s been ignoring John’s decrees. Surely Heather and Julian get along.” 

Paul took a moment to respond, and he filled the pregnant silence by choosing to light up a smoke, a level of restraint that George didn’t know whether was something he should fear or something that benefited him. 

“Well, you see, Pattie, I reckon that it was an error in judgement to do that,” he drawled. “Julian seems to have been led astray by his mum, and thinks that the relationship that Heather and I share is one that he deserves to have, and that she doesn’t. Given that Hettie’s my priority, I don’t think that I’ll be encouraging his behaviour.” 

“Why can’t you be his dad as well as hers?” 

“Julian’s got a dad. It’s not my fault that his sorry excuse for a father had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the Priory. The answer’s no.”

“No?” 

“No. Lin and I have things to do tonight,” he said. “We don’t have time to muck around with trying to facilitate a detente with my daughter and John’s son.” 

“That’s not what the Maharishi taught us, Paul!”

“Sod him,” Paul said. “You too want to believe in that mystical bullshit, that’s all well and good. I don’t intend to. I just wanted a holiday. So, who’s it going to be? You lot, or Richie and Mo?” 

“What are you talking about?” Richie asked, his mind having clearly been elsewhere. “Who’s going to be doing what?”

“Taking care of the child until his mother remembers she left him,” Paul said. “Linda and I have done well enough. It’s time for one of you two to step up.”

Julian had fallen asleep on the floor, directly beside Paul’s amplifier, and he snored loudly. It was clear the child was oblivious to the fact that he was being spoken about. Though George wanted to protest the fact that Paul refused to take him -- and rather heartily at that -- he decided against antagonising the other man. At least for that moment. Accepting defeat was the least offensive thing that George could contemplate doing at that time. He already had a throbbing pain behind his temple as a result of John’s behaviours. He didn’t want to be the reason that his headache worsened. It was simply easier to agree.

“I don’t have a problem with taking him for the night,” George offered. “Would that be all right with you, luv?” 

Pattie nodded. “I don’t mind it,” she said. “Would Heather like to join us?” 

“I think that Heather will be staying with Paul and Linda,” he said hastily, sensing the opportunity for Paul to revolt, based on Pattie’s suggestion. “Paul’s said that she’s not used to being apart from them here,” he added. “She’s still nervous about being in a new country.” 

Heather had managed to fall soundly asleep. She was sprawled across Paul’s middle, and quiet snores could be heard from her. George would have found the sight sweet if he wasn’t vaguely certain that Paul wanted to start offing his bandmates, and possibly George’s own wife. 

Not that George really could blame him for that. It had been a rather perplexing comment for Pattie to make.

“No, Heather will  _ not  _ be joining you,” Paul said in a rather dark tone. “Where were you during our previous conversation, Pattie?” 

“I just don’t understand why they can’t be friends.”

“George told you,” he said flatly. “She’s still adjusting to living in England. We’re still adjusting to being a family, here in England. I don’t think that she’d enjoy spending the night at Esher. It’s not a dig on you, Pattie, it’s just the truth. We’ve had to pull her from the local primary because of how the other children were treating her. I don’t think that she’d want to spend the night away from us right now. I’m not saying that it’s always going to be a no, but, for now, yeah, it is.” 

Pattie sighed. 

“What?” Paul demanded. “Have you got another comment to add?” 

“I just don’t understand what the difference is,” she said. “Why do you get to adopt her, but George says that we can’t look into doing an adoption?”

“I told you, Pattie,” he interjected. “The situations are different. Heather already exists. If Paul wants to make things official with a piece of paper, that’s on him. I’m not going to be responsible for what will happen if you go on the record claiming that we can’t have children.”

He shuddered at the thought. 

“What? The thought that someone might give us a child?” 

“The thought that every bloody fan out there who’s in trouble will think that I’m a bang up solution for that, and that there will be a parade of teenaged birds traipsing in and out of the studio in some  _ perverse _ audition. I won’t have it. I told you.”

“Paul doesn’t seem to mind people knowing he can’t have kids.”

“You are aware that Heather is Linda’s, right, Pattie?” Paul asked, while George tried to think of a retort. “She’s not some child that we pulled out of whole cloth, or thin air? I don’t bloody know whether or not I can have children or not, but whether or not we do, Heather is mine. I’m so bloody tired of everyone making a big deal about an accident of biology.” 

“See?” Pattie said, her tone smug. “Paul doesn’t care. He called it an accident of biology.”

“Stop twisting my words around,” he said. “All I meant was that it wasn’t Heath’s fault that we’re not ever going to look like each other, or whatever. That’s all. I never wanted my relationships to be used as fodder for your arguments with George. I don’t care if he ever agrees to adopt a baby with you. In fact, Lind, I think we should get going.” 

“Are you sure?” Linda asked him. 

Paul nodded. “Yeah, I mean, the baby, she’s asleep. What good will it do her if we start rowing? With John gone, I doubt we’re gonna get any work done, especially with Henry out and about. If we stay any longer I’d be tempted to destroy the masters to Revolution Number Nine.” 

“You’d be doing the world a favour if you did.” 

Paul chuckled. “Yeah, luv, I know it. I’m trying to ignore my baser instincts.”

“Well, if you want to leave, we can,” she told him. “Or you can stay and I can bring Heather home?”

George heard Paul sigh. “No, baby, I want to go with you. I don’t think we’re going to be getting much done tonight.”

* * *

  
  


“I thought that Heather’s presence in the studio helped everyone get on with each other,” Linda said quietly, as she readied herself to leave the studio, making sure that she had all of their belongings. Satisfied that she’d done so, she shouldered her handbag and linked her arm through Paul’s. “What on earth happened today?” 

“Normally it does,” he said. “What happened today shouldn’t have happened. It was improper. We’ve wasted an entire day because Pattie and George involved themselves in things that don’t concern them.” Paul’s facial features had twisted into a scowl. “God knows how behind we’ll be with John off at the Priory…” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she felt him tug her closer. “Maybe you all need a break.”   
  


“We’re meant to get the LP out before the Christmas holidays,” he told her. “We don’t have the luxury of screwing off every time we feel the whim to. Don’t you think I want to? Stay at home with you and Hettie?”

Heather snuggled closer to him, still soundly asleep. 

“I know, Paul.” 

“I understand that John needed to go to the clinic to dry out,” he said. “I’m not denying that that had to be done. I just don’t understand what he was thinking in the first place bringing junk where our daughter is.” 

“I don’t blame you,” she assured him. “I just think that it’s  _ possible _ that waiting until John has returned to sobriety might be the better time to lecture him.” 

“Yeah, luv, I know.” He shot her a quick grin. “Come ead, let’s go home.” 

“What are we going to do when we get there?” 

“Sod if I know,” he said. “I just don’t want to stay here. I have to get out of here.” 

“No one’s making you leave,” Ringo informed the two of them. “We can record, you know, if that’s what you want. We were meant to.”

Paul shook his head. “I’m knackered,” he told him. “I think Hettie’s got the right idea, you know, taking a kip. Maybe when we get home Linda and I will join her.” 

“That sounds lovely.” Linda didn’t know if Paul was telling the truth, but she was okay with going along with the storyline he was spinning. “I think that you’ve got the right idea.” 

“Thanks, baby.”

“What about tomorrow?” Ringo continued. “We’ve booked the studio. You can bring ‘em.” 

“You don’t mind? If I bring ‘em?” 

“No,” he said. “I don’t mind if either of them come around. I minded Yoko because she’s a bleeding nightmare.” 

“Well, then, if they want to, I will,” Paul said. “I won’t wake up Heather to ask her, though.” 

“No, that’s unnecessary,” Linda said in agreement. “We’ll ask her when she wakes up.” 

“Right, well, if that’s sorted, I’d really like to get on with it,” Paul said. “I really am tired, Rich. It’s not anything on you, you know?”

Linda took a step in the direction of the door. “We’ll be back tomorrow,” she said. “It’s been gear.” 

She wasn’t entirely sure that she was using that word correctly, but her attempt at it had made Paul grin down at her, so she counted it as a win. Anything that would cheer Paul up lately, she admitted to herself, including embarrassing herself by massacring British slang, and tagging along with him to his rehearsals, and fully allowing herself to embrace Heather’s decision to view him as her father. She’d been hesitant at first, and tried to hold firm on insisting that Paul be Paul, but the twosome had worn her down, and she had to admit that being allowed to be a father and daughter had improved their general dispositions. That in itself was a gift.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, as they headed out of the studio, and down the hallway that lead to the exit. “Let’s go home. We’ll order a few takeaways and settle in for the night. That sound good, you reckon?” 

Linda nodded. “That sounds brilliant.” She tucked herself against his side, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I think that would be a good time. What’re you hungry for?”

“I reckon I could go for a curry? Maybe some Chinese? It depends on what our Heather wants, you know? I thought we could call it a celebration?” 

“You’re sweet,” she told him. “I know how much you love her.”

“Yeah, of course I do.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is that Yoyo Nono?” Heather asked him, her eyes wide. 
> 
> Paul nodded. “I’m ignoring her, Hettie.” 
> 
> “Paul, I know that you’re in there,” she continued, her voice sounding alarmingly shrill with each word that left her mouth. “You let me into that house right this second, or I’ll hop your fence.” 
> 
> “Tell her to fuck off,” Paul told Heather. “Go on. I’ve said it’s all right.” 
> 
> “I don’t want her to come in, Daddy,” Heather whispered. “Can people really hop the fence and get in?”
> 
> Paul held back a sigh. “Of course not, Hettie,” he said, trying to maintain his facade of calm. “Yoko is just kidding. She’s having a laugh.” 

Paul’s impressively foul mood had dimmed substantially over the course of the evening, and when he woke up the next morning, he decided that it was for the best if they took Ringo’s advice and attended the planned studio session, even if John wasn’t going to be present. Given that John’s contributions to recording sessions as of late had mainly consisted of trying everyone he came in contact with’s patience, Paul wasn’t entirely certain that it was necessarily the worst thing in the world for John to be -- for lack of a better word -- away. 

True to his -- and George Martin’s -- predictions, the press had taken his outburst of a confession and ran with it, clearly determined to publicise anything even vaguely wholesome and family friendly coming from any of the Beatles. Heather had been delighted to have seen herself on the telly during the previous night’s evening news, and her excitement at what he had long since viewed as banal -- being on the telly, of course, not being her dad -- had managed to un-ruffle most of his wounded feathers. 

Yes, he thought, as he started the kettle for his morning cup of tea, and absentmindedly lit up his first cigarette, there was the chance that there was a decent day in the offing. 

Sure, he felt guilty that he was experiencing relief at John’s forced hospitalisation, and he  _ could _ admit that it was wrong of him to do so, but, honestly? There was a part of Paul that felt that John had gotten himself into the situation he was currently in of his own doing. Heroin. As if John’s years of abusing LSD and coke weren’t bad enough. He shook his head. 

“What a mess, eh, girl?” Paul murmured under his breath, directing the question at Martha, who nudged at the back of his leg with her snout, clearly angling for a spot of brekkie. “Our Johnny, getting himself into trouble again. You’d have thought you’d have sorted him after you rushed ‘im that time.” He gave her a scratch behind the ears, before he sat about getting her her breakfast. 

He let out a yawn. “There you go,” he told her, as he set the bowl and some fresh water down in their proper space. “Tuck in.” 

With Martha sorted, Paul set about sorting out the food for the cats. Not that any of them were awake. The last he’d seen them they’d been piled on Heather’s bed, curled up on any and all sides of her. The sight had made him smile. 

He knew that the tranquility of the house would be over soon, though. Heather was sure to rise sooner rather than later, and despite his best efforts to give Linda a bit of a lie in, Paul knew that the sound of their little girl’s voice would eventually lure her from sleep and into their living areas. Not that he minded any of that, of course. A bit of solitude was nice and everything, but Paul cherished the presence of his girls. 

He poured himself his tea and sat down on the settee, the daily papers in his free hand. While the rest of the lads seemed convinced that any publicity was good publicity, and George Martin seemed horrified at anything vaguely hinting at the off-colour, Paul was aware enough of the ways of the world to recognise what was acceptable for the press to print, and what wasn’t, and he was equally aware of the fact that they were the ones responsible for ensuring that they weren’t being libeled, or that they weren’t saying foolish utterances to the press. 

With Brian gone, damage control of the group had fallen to them, and with no one seeming to care whether or not it was done with any sense of aplomb, the task had truly fallen to Paul. 

Many tasks had fallen to Paul. 

Frankly he was getting tired of being the sole member of the group that was focused enough to both acknowledge that they had deadlines to meet, and agree that those deadlines being met was something to approach with any sort of degree of seriousness. 

Being an adult was all well and good, but Paul felt they were  _ all _ supposed to be adults, given that two of the four members were older than him. Of course, the thought of John being in charge of  _ anything _ at all, given his recently discovered extracurricular habits was a rather sobering thought. As for Ringo? Paul loved the man dearly, but he was a people pleaser. He’d have gone along with literally anything that anyone wanted in an attempt to keep the peace. He shuddered to think of what  _ that _ might have led to. 

Paul set the stack of papers on the table in front of him, and he pulled the top one from the pile, taking a sip of tea to fully awaken, as he read the headline. 

_ McCartney’s shock announcement: ‘Cute Beatle’ announces that he’s a father _

Accompanying the headline was a photograph of him, Linda, and Heather, clearly taken the previous day. 

The headline regarding John’s divorce --  _ Mrs. Lennon claims Mssr. Lennon committed adultery _ \-- had thankfully been languished to a small column, and given a bare summarisation of the events. 

“Daddy?” Heather could be heard from the hallway, her voice thick with sleep, and he beckoned her towards him, not caring that she’d taken her blanket off her bed, along with two soft animals. “What are you doing?” 

She’d dropped the facade of her accent in favour of her American one, something that Heather only truly did if she was alone with him and Linda. 

“I’m reading the papers, luv,” he told her. “Come ead. You can sit with me.” 

“Can I wake up Mum?” 

“Let’s let her have a lie in, okay?” He suggested. “Just for a bit. We can spend time together.” 

“Okay,” she said, and he stood up off the settee, having decided that it was probably easier for them both if he went to her. “Why’s Mummy tired?” 

“We were up late, you know,” he said, his tone somewhat invasive. “We were doing grown up stuff.” 

“Like what?” 

He scooped her up, and she wrapped her arms around him, her stuffed animals along for the ride. He made sure the blanket was too. 

“Grown up stuff, Hettie,” he told her. “Very boring grown up stuff. You wouldn’t find it very interesting to hear about.” 

“Does it make you tired?” 

Paul nodded. “Yeah, duck, it makes you knackered. But, Mum’ll be right as rain with a bit more sleep, don’t you fret. She’d be happy that we were spending time together, you know.” 

“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “The kittens and Thisbe spent the night with me,” she added, with an excited squeal. “They’re still sleeping.” 

“That’s brilliant,” he told her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she said. “The whole night. Did you and Mummy?” 

“Cor. We always do. You’re sweet to care about me and your mum.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Hettie.” 

“Love you, too. Where’s Martha?” 

He grinned. “Havin’ her brekkie. In the kitchen.” Heather’s grin matched his. “We mustn’t disturb her whilst she’s eating, but we can go in and see her, if you want?” 

She nodded. “Can we bring her to your work today? We’re still going, right? I want to go.” 

“You really want to come with me?” 

She nodded again. “Uh huh. I miss you when you’re at work. Mummy says that the girls who stay outside don’t want us to play out there when you’re gone.” She sighed. “I don’t know why they don’t like us.” 

“Het, it’s not that they don’t like you,” Paul assured her. “You’re a brilliant lass, and if they got to know you and got to know your mum, they’d understand that. They’re upset because they thought that when I...when I ended me last relationship, they thought that they might’ve gotten a chance with me.” He sighed. “It was foolish of them.” 

“They’re jealous?” She questioned. Paul nodded. “Of me?” 

“Yeah, I reckon so,” he said. “You, your mum.” He sighed. “You understand that Daddy’s job makes me very famous, right? The records?” 

She nodded. “People like your music.” 

“Right, and many of them are very young,” he said. “I’m not entirely certain that they mean to be cruel to you and your mum, but I’ll put a stop to it. I’ll try, you know? You know that I try, right?” 

“I know.” 

“I’m sorry that they’re behaving that way,” he added. “I’ll try my best to sort things to rights. You should be allowed to play in our garden.” 

“Thank you, Da.” 

“You’re welcome, luv.” Paul felt rather strongly that Heather shouldn’t have needed to thank him for putting a stop to the truly terrible behaviour of the fans who waited outside of their house day in and day out, but he couldn’t fault her for being polite. “How’s about a cuppa?” 

She nodded. “One like yours,” she said. “Please.” 

“Okay,” he said. “Do you mind if I put you down? Just to make tea.” 

“Can I stay with you?” 

“Cor, don’t worry about that,” he told her. “You stay right here.” He placed her down on the parquet. “I just don’t want you to get burnt by the kettle.” 

Martha glanced over at them for a moment, and her tail gave a wag, before she returned her interest to the meal in front of her. 

“Does Martha like tea?” Heather asked, her tone curious. “Or are dogs not meant to have it?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I’ll have to ask the vet, the next time she goes.” 

“Why does she have to go to the doggy doctor? Is she ill?” 

“No, luv, she’s gotta have regular checkups, same as you, and same as me and Mummy. There’s nothing wrong with her, I promise.” 

“Okay. I believe you.” 

Paul was glad. He knew how fragile Heather tended to be. He didn’t want the thought of Martha possibly being sick to cause her needless distress. 

“Good,” he said. “How many cubes of sugar do you want?” 

“Fifty million,” she said. 

“How about four? That’s how much I use.” 

“Okay, Da.” 

“Fifty million cubes of sugar would be an awful lot,” he told her, and then he got a rather devilish idea, and squatted down so he was eye level with her. “You ought to ask Uncle Henry about having fifty million sugar cubes,” he suggested, a smirk on his lips. “I want to see what he says.” 

“Daddy!” Heather chastised. “That’s naughty!” 

“I know,” he allowed. “Daddy’s feeling rather naughty right now.” 

“You won’t be mad if I ask him?” 

“No, I want to see the old bloke’s reaction, to tell you the truth.” Heather giggled. “You do want to come, yeah?” 

She nodded. “Yes. I like visiting you at work. Even if they were loud yesterday.” 

He kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry that they were loud. They won’t be like that today.” 

“You promise?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, kitten, I promise. Go get yourself sorted on the settee. I’ll bring your tea over.” 

He watched as Heather settled herself on the sofa, a soft smile appearing on his face as he took stock of her tucking both herself in and her stuffed animals in as well, and he put the tea on a saucer and headed out to join her. The stack of newspapers could either way entirely, or be shown to Heather, if the almost-six year old wanted to see them. He was fine either way. 

“Budge up,” he said gently. “How does someone your size take up the entire piece of furniture?”

She giggled. “Mum says I’m a growing girl.” 

“Does she?” He took a sip of his tea, and sat down beside her. “You reckon you’ll be as tall as me someday?” 

She shook her head. “You’re a grown up.” 

“You’ll be a grown up someday, too,” he told her. She shook her head. “Sure you will. Mum and I, we’ll be old and grey, and you’ll be all grown up. But you’ll still be our little girl.” 

Heather curled close to him, and he wrapped his arm around her. “What if you and Mummy have a baby?” 

“What about that?” Paul asked. He wanted to figure out where Heather’s concerns laid before proceeding. 

“If you have a baby, you’ll still love me, right? You won’t love the baby more because it  _ always _ had you as its Da?” 

“Yeah, Het, I’ll still love you,” he assured her. “I love you so much, you know that, right, darling? So much that sometimes it hurts. That’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing when a person feels that way about you. That won’t ever change, not even if Mummy and I have twenty babies together. I promise.”

She giggled. “Twenty babies would be a lot.” 

“Yeah, it would be,” he said. “We’d have to get a bigger house, I’d reckon.” He smirked. “You’re our first, though, and that’s something that’d never change. Even if we gave you twenty brothers and sisters.” He nuzzled her hair. “Come ead. Why don’t you sit on me lap? We can have our cuppa, and a cuddle, and I can show you the photographs of us in the paper?”

Heather scrambled onto his lap before he could even finish his invitation, and he settled back against the couch, pleased by the proximity that they shared, and vowing to do something about the fans who lurked outside of the property. It was absolutely barmy that Heather was too scared to play outside of her own home, and he wasn’t planning on standing for it. If they were going to persist in hanging around the property, they had to respect his daughter, and the mother of his child. Heather’s troubles in school were bad enough. He wasn’t going to have people who were old enough torture her just because they were jealous. 

As if his dark thoughts had summonsed them, his intercom system crackled to life. 

“Paul?” 

Paul let out a sigh. He knew perfectly well who was on the other end of the line, and he wanted to deal with his unexpected visitor even less than he wanted to deal with the fans. 

“Is that Yoyo Nono?” Heather asked him, her eyes wide. 

Paul nodded. “I’m ignoring her, Hettie.” 

“Paul, I know that you’re in there,” she continued, her voice sounding alarmingly shrill with each word that left her mouth. “You let me into that house right this second, or I’ll hop your fence.” 

“Tell her to fuck off,” Paul told Heather. “Go on. I’ve said it’s all right.” 

“I don’t want her to come in, Daddy,” Heather whispered. “Can people really hop the fence and get in?”    
  


Paul held back a sigh. “Of course not, Hettie,” he said, trying to maintain his facade of calm. “Yoko is just kidding. She’s having a laugh.” 

Heather clung to him like a monkey, and he padded over to his intercom. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Yoko, what the hell do you want?” 

“I want to know what you’ve done with John,” she said. “Where is he?” 

“I’m not his bloody keeper,” Paul muttered, his tone rather dark. “You are not to be hopping  _ my _ fence under any circumstances,” he informed her. “If you’re not going to fuck off, I might as well let you in. The last thing I need is you corrupting any of the Scruffs. They’ve already got enough issues.”

There was a rumbling of discontent on Yoko’s end. “I heard that,” he told them. “You don’t think I won’t be dealing with you lot? Think again.” 

* * *

  
  
  


“Are you sure you don’t want to go lay in bed with Mummy?” Paul offered Heather, who had a rather tight hold on his hand, and looked as if she’d have sooner had a solo audience with a horde of his angry fans than spend any time whatsoever with Yoko Ono. “I don’t mind, ducky. Mummy wouldn’t mind either.” 

She shook her head. “She made Uncle John mean,” she informed him. “I heard everyone fighting yesterday.”   
  


“You heard that?” Paul asked. “What did you hear?” 

“Stuff about Uncle John having a big mess,” she said. “Why? Am I in trouble?” 

“No,” he said. “You’re not in trouble. Please don’t mention any of that to Yoko, or around her, okay?”   
  


She nodded. “I won’t, Daddy.” 

“That’s a good girl,” he told her. “Want me to carry you?” 

“Please?” Heather asked. “Just while she’s here.” She sniffled. He scooped her up. “She scares me.” 

“To tell you the truth, luv, she scares almost everyone.” 

The doorbell chimed loudly, and Paul winced. He hoped that Linda was sound enough asleep to avoid heeding the sound, or at least that she’d wake up, see that he’d gotten up for the day, and go back to sleep. There was no need for her to be awakened by Yoko. 

With great reluctance, Paul pulled open the door. Yoko stood in front of it, the hand of a young girl -- whom Paul recognised had to be her daughter -- firmly in hers. 

“What brings you here?” He demanded, an edge to his tone. “Don’t tell me you expect us to mind your child for you.” 

“Kyoko doesn’t need minding,” she informed him. “She is a fully realised human being, capable of full autonomy.” Yoko gave a sniff of disapproval. “Kyoko informed me that Father hadn’t come home yesterday.” 

“Well, that’s because you and her father got a divorce,” Paul said. “Surely you don’t call John that.” 

“He calls me Mother,” she said, her tone impressively neutral. “I don’t understand why you won’t get him for me.” 

“I told you, John’s not here. The only other person here besides Heather and me is Linda, and she’s asleep in bed, where I’d like her to remain.” 

“What’s her name, Daddy?” Heather whispered. 

“That’s Kyoko,” Paul told her. “She’s Yoko’s daughter.”

“Does she want to play with me?” 

“Absolutely not,” Yoko said. “Kyoko does not want to play with you. As if I would let her be exposed to  _ more _ gauche Englishmen.” 

“Oh, come off it, Yoko,” he said. “Why can’t the lasses play with each other, if only for a mo? I don’t see the harm in it.” 

“Why? So Kyoko can tell her father that the way John and I live isn’t normal?” 

“I never said that,” he said. “Hullo, Kyoko.” 

Kyoko glanced at him briefly, before she locked her gaze elsewhere in the room. “Do you have a dog?” 

Martha had apparently finished breakfast and gone out to see what all the fuss was about. She sauntered across the room to settle herself at Paul’s feet, giving both their visitors a most distrusting glance. 

“Yeah,” he told her. “Her name’s Martha.” 

“I still dunno why we can’t play together,” Heather informed him. “Yoyo doesn’t like Englishmen, right? But I’m  _ not _ English.” 

“That’s a very good point, Hettie,” he told her. “You know perfectly well that Linda and Heather are American, same as your daughter. What’s the difference between them? You brought her round here. I’m surprised you didn’t leave her at home. What did you think was going to happen?” 

“I--”   
  


“You were going to try to lure John out with her, weren’t you?” Paul said, and he dropped the pleasant veneer he normally adopted during times of conflict. “Because you know that John doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly the cause of a broken home instead of the effect, and because you think that you can con John into replacing Julian with your daughter, rather than encouraging him to even attempt to repair his relationship with Cynthia so that she and John could even  _ try _ to parent Julian together.” He stepped closer to her. “Would you say that’s accurate?” 

“John doesn’t know what’s best for him.” 

“Of course he bloody doesn’t,” Paul snapped. “Why the bloody hell would he? He went from one trauma after the next, and became more famous than  _ any _ of us could ever have imagined when we were the fucking Quarrymen, when we were still fucking kids. He’s floundering because of what happened in India, he’s floundering because of whatever the hell goes on in his head that makes him so fucking screwed up half the bleeding time, and he’s in a free fall because he’s unexpectedly lost yet another guiding figure in his life. Frankly, I think it's a miracle that the wanker is still with us.” 

“Oh, so  _ you _ know what’s best for John?” 

“Oh, come off it, Yoko. We know. You don’t like me. John thinks Linda is ‘tweedy’ and can’t be arsed to get to know her because she’s from New York and she’s not willing to get starkers with me and pose nude for an LP cover.” He sneered. “Lockwood asked, you know. Said we’d sell better. Thinks we’re more perky to look at. I told him no. I’m not taking me clothes off to what? Say fuck you to what I’ve deemed is the Establishment?” He shook his head. “I have news for you, Yoko. Despite your best efforts to delude him, John  _ is _ a member of the Establishment. You’re just some daffy bird that he’s decided is the secret to filling whatever is missing in him. You’re like...the equivalent of some daft toy that Heather’s seen on the telly, or on the High Street, except that you’re dealing with John, whose attention span is even worse than a five year old’s.” 

“He has something of mine,” she hissed. “Something I need, Paul.” 

“Sorry,” he said, and he shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea where John’s gone off to, and I have no idea where whatever it is you need is.” He fixed a smile on his face. “Have you come here just to rant and rave and make me wish John  _ was _ here for the sole purpose of getting you to be quiet?” 

“I need a fix!” 

“Sorry, luv,” he purred. “Lin and I, we’re straight. We don’t fuck with that shit. Will you be going then?” 

“What will you do if I don’t?” 

“I think I ought to ring the police department. I reckon they’d sort you right quick.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No, I think that I would. My family comes first to me, and that family will  _ never  _ include you. I’d love for it to include John again, you know, if he ever comes back to his senses.” 

“You heard him,” Linda said, and he felt her presence behind him. “He told you to leave.”

“Maybe you ought to ring 999,” he suggested. “It’s--”   
  


“Fine,” Yoko snapped. “The three of you are useless, anyways. Come on, Kyoko. Say goodbye to the mutt.” 

Paul followed them outside, mainly so that he could ensure that they actually left the property. It was nothing against Kyoko. Paul pitied the girl, frankly. He was rather leery of Yoko herself, however, and wouldn’t have put it past her to have hidden in his bushes. Since he couldn’t trust the Scruffs to behave themselves around either Heather or Linda, how was he meant to trust that they’d alert him to Yoko’s lurking presence? He clearly was unable to. 

Heather clung to him, her arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Right,” he said, once he’d spotted Yoko and Kyoko speed away. “I understand that you’ve been making my daughter, Heather, here, feel very uncomfortable. I don’t like that, do you understand? Heather and Linda are my family. They’re important to me.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Heather’s head, and reached his hand out to grasp Linda’s, who had joined them. “You can be upset that Jane and I ended things, that’s perfectly fine. But I don’t want you to take it out on them. Leave them be.” 

“Come on, luv,” Linda whispered to him. “Let’s go inside.” 

Paul thought that was a brilliant idea, and he followed her into the house, still effortlessly carrying Heather. He had no desire to put her down, at least, not at that moment. He was afraid that he’d lose his composure if he did. 

“I’m sorry, Linda, I didn’t know she had woken you up,” he apologised. “Do you want to get back to bed?” 

“You don’t have to apologise for her behaviour,” she said. “I’m fine. I would have let you handle it on your own if I wasn’t.” 

“I know.” He kissed her. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, Mummy,” Heather chimed in, and she reached her arms out, clearly wanting to go to Linda. 

“I love you both,” Linda said, and she took Heather from him. “Have you had a rough morning?” 

She shook her head. “Just when Yoyo came,” she told her. “I was with Daddy.” 

“You like getting up with your dad, don’t you?” 

Heather nodded. “He’s the best. He doesn’t say that I’m up too early or that he wants to be left alone, like Grandpa would when you’d leave me with them to work,” she said. “He made me a cup of tea and we were going to look at our pictures in the paper. Then Yoyo showed up. I don’t like her, Mummy.” 

“Why don’t you like her?” 

“She makes Uncle John so mean,” she said. “Whenever she goes to Daddy’s work. He’s mean to everyone, to me, to Daddy, to Uncle Henry and Uncle Ringo and Uncle George. I don’t like it. Daddy yells at him and he stops for awhile but it doesn’t stay the same.” 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What happened in India?” Linda eyed him with confusion. “I thought you had a good time?”
> 
> “I don’t know what happened in India,” he said. “I thought that we had. I mean. Honestly, Jane and I, we thought the whole thing was a bit of a lark, but we still tried our hardest to take it seriously. John took it to extremes though. He meditated more than George did. He’d spend hours in his room.” He scrubbed at his face with his hand. “We got back and we went out to New York to promote Apple and it was like...I dunno, Lind. Like he changed. Completely.” He sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’d rather get a bit more rest, if it’s all the same to the two of you.” He yawned. 
> 
> “Daddy’s tired, Mum,” Heather added. “Maybe we should let him rest.”

“Well, Uncle John’s gone on a little trip,” Paul said quietly, and Linda watched as he got down on Heather’s level. “He’s gotten himself involved in things that are bad for him to take, and Uncle Henry has taken him to a place that will have him sorted out. He just needs to stay there for awhile, and it’s important that Yoko does not know where he’s gone.” 

“Is she the reason why he had to go?” Heather asked. “It wasn’t because me and Mum came to visit you?” 

“No, your visit had nothing to do with what happened yesterday,” he said. “Uncle John just has some problems, and they need to be sorted. I don’t want you to worry about them.” 

Linda knew that asking Heather not to worry about something -- especially if it was a problem for adults to handle that was out of her control -- was pretty much an open invitation for Heather to start to worry even more about whatever it was she had been worried about in the first place. It was endearing, she supposed, but she wished that she was in better control of her emotions. There was little that Heather could do about John. 

“Can we go visit him?” She asked. “Dad?” 

Paul gave Linda a brief glance, before he turned his attention back to Heather. “Not right now,” he said. “He needs to get sorted...settled in. He’s only just gotten admitted. When he’s feeling better, we can go. I’ll go by myself first, to make sure that it would be all right for you and Mum to see him, and if it’s allowed, we’ll work something out so that you can.” He cupped her chin. “You understand, right, duck? I’m not doin’ it to be cruel.” 

“I understand,” she echoed. 

“Maybe you could colour a picture for him?” Linda suggested. “That would be fine, wouldn’t it, Paul?” 

He met her gaze, and he gave her a nod. “Yeah, you could do that,” he said. “We could help you write a letter to him, even, to send along with your artwork.” 

“Okay,” she said. “What should I colour for him? What does he like? Mum?” 

Linda was taken aback, both by the fact that the question was directed at her, and by the fact that Heather had taken it upon herself to launch herself at her, and she’d practically lost her footing with the force of her daughter’s leap. 

“Um, I don’t know,” she said softly, as she hoisted her up and smoothed out her hair. “I don’t really know John the way that your dad does,” she pointed out. “He’d be a better source of information.” 

“Da?” 

“Yeah, luv?” Paul asked, as he stood back up. “What is it?” 

“What should I colour for him?” 

Paul padded over to them, his hand idly scratching his abdomen, and Linda could see that he was exhausted, if not physically than emotionally. He hadn’t even cared that he’d been seen on the steps of their house clad only in his pajama bottoms, even though he’d been dealing with Yoko and with the teenaged girls who scared Heather so much. She bit back a sigh. 

“He likes cats, Hettie,” Paul said after a moment. He stifled a yawn. “You ought to colour him some kittens. Maybe you can help Mummy take some pictures of the kittens and of Thisbe, and we can send them along with the letter? Would you like that?” 

Heather nodded. “Yes, I think it will make him feel better,” she said. “Will you let me help you take photographs of them, Mummy?” 

“Of course I will,” she told her. “Maybe we ought to have a kip with Daddy? Do you want to, Hettie?” 

“I’m fine, Lin,” he told her, and he leaned over and brushed a kiss to her lips. “It’s just been a long week.” Heather eyed Paul with the shrewdness that only a child was capable of, her eyes narrowing and her lips formed into a pout, which Paul noticed. “What, darlin’? You want Daddy to give you a kiss?”

“Yes, but I want to have a kip with you,” she insisted. “Please? With you and Mummy? You  _ said _ we could earlier, if I wanted to.” 

“Mummy’s awake now, though, because it’s morning,” Paul said, though his point was somewhat marred when he gave a wide yawn. “I have to be at the studio at noon.” 

Linda glanced at the clock. “Paul, it’s barely half eight,” she said. “Come on. We can go have a cuddle, and if you happen to fall asleep, it’s all right. I’ve told you. You’re allowed to be tired.” 

“Don’t you  _ want _ to cuddle with me?” Heather added. 

“Yeah, Hettie, of course I do,” Paul said hastily. “I reckon it would be fine if we went back to bed. You want me to carry you in? Or Mum?” 

“I want you to carry me,” she insisted, and she reached her arms out for him. Linda suspected that Heather was being slightly manipulative due to her concern for her father, but she decided she would let it slide for the moment. She was concerned about Paul, too, after all. There was no need to make Heather feel that she couldn’t be. “Please, Daddy?”

He gave them a tired smile. “Cor,” he said, as he took her into his arms. “Are you actually going to let us sleep?” 

She nodded. “Uh huh.” 

“Come ead,” he said to Linda, and she felt him clasp her hand. “Maybe I am a bit knackered.” 

“No one here thinks any less of you for it, Paul, you have to know that,” she insisted. “You’re still my baby if you concede to getting the proper amount of sleep,” she teased. “Hettie and I, we love you.” 

“I love you so much,” Heather agreed, and Linda smiled at the sight of her snuggled against his chest, clearly content to be in his arms. “You’re my dad.” 

“I know I am, Heath.” 

They headed down the hall towards the master bedroom that she shared with Paul, and Martha followed behind them, her nails clacking against the floor. He squeezed her hand tightly as they walked. It was clear to Linda that Paul had been shaken by Yoko’s presence, and she wished that there was something that she could do to ease his discomfort. She sighed.

“What is it?” Paul asked her. “Are you all right?” 

“I just wish there was something that could be done about that woman,” she admitted. “If she’s really doing heroin, can’t someone call in a bust? Now that John’s not going to be affected by it?”

He furrowed his brow. “You don’t think that’d be poor form?” 

“John is in the Priory, thanks to her,” Linda reminded him. “You don’t just decide to take junk on a whim. He had that in the studio where  _ our _ daughter was. What if she’d gotten into it?” 

“I’ll give ‘em a ring,” he said. “Just give me a mo, okay?” 

He deposited Heather on the bed, and she let out a moan of protest when he didn’t immediately join her. “Daddy?”

“I have to make a telephone call,” he said. “Keep Mummy company for me?” 

“You’ll come back?” 

“As soon as I’ve gotten this sorted.” He kissed Heather on the cheek. “Love you, doll.” 

“Are you gonna kiss Mummy?” 

Paul grinned. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She nodded. “I reckon I ought to, then.”

He straightened himself up and crossed the room to her, and she leaned in for a kiss, surprised by his intensity. His lips met hers with an almost feral hunger, his fingers coming up to curl into her hair. She leaned into him, parting her lips to allow him to deepen the kiss. 

“You can kiss me like that whenever you want,” she told him when they pulled apart, her lips tingling and her breath in need of catching. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he murmured, pulling her close for a moment before releasing her. “Settle in with Hettie. I’ll be in after I ring the coppers.” 

Linda reclaimed her spot in the bed, and she smiled at Heather when she curled close to her. “Are you okay?” She asked her, as she idly stroked her hair. “Are you upset because of the girls outside?”   
  


Heather shook her head. “No, Mum. Daddy spoke to them, remember?” She sighed. 

“But something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” Linda questioned. Heather nodded. “What happened, Hettie?” 

“Yoyo said that if Daddy didn’t open the door and talk to her she was going to hop the fence and make him let her in,” she whispered, after a moment. “It scared me. I don’t want her coming over like that.” 

Paul could be heard on the telephone in the kitchen, his voice somewhat muffled by the distance between the two rooms, but his anger was palpable. 

“She won’t,” Linda whispered, and she wrapped her arms around Heather. “That’s why Daddy’s on the telephone. He’s ringing someone that can stop her.” 

“He is? Why?” 

“Because what she’s done is wrong,” she told her. “Did your dad tell her that she was welcome?”

Heather shook her head. “He was upset that she came. Told her to leave.” 

“That’s called trespassing,” Linda explained. “That’s not allowed.” 

“Will Daddy fix it?” 

“I’m sure he’s going to try,” she assured her. “It might not be something that’s fixed right away. But, you know Daddy. He doesn’t like it when you’re scared. He wants to make things better.” 

“He loves me,” she whispered. “He told me so.” 

“I know he does,” Linda assured her. “Are you really tired, Hettie?” 

“I don’t mind having a kip with Daddy,” she answered. “I don’t want to fall asleep when we go to work with him again.”

“Dad doesn’t mind if you fall asleep,” she told her. “He knows that it’s often a long day in the studio, especially if you’re not used to it.”

Paul’s footsteps could be heard approaching the bedroom, and Martha wagged her tail from her position at the foot of the bed, her ears perked at the sound of her returning master. The tension was evident in his posture and the look in his eyes, and Linda worried her lower lip, wondering what had happened. Of course, Paul had been undergoing a great deal of stress as it was with the band in the state that it had been in lately, so it was possible that he looked like he did because of that, and not because of the telephone call. At the same time, she felt the need for him to give her an update. 

“What happened?” She asked him, and he stuck a cigarette in his mouth before climbing into his side of the bed. “Did the phone call not go well?” 

“It wasn’t needed,” he said after a moment, during which he’d fumbled with his lighter, trying to light the cigarette. “It appears that she got into a little dust up on the road up ahead, with a bobbie on his way to work. The car is totaled, and she and Kyoko have had to go to hospital. They’re charging her with a violation of the Dangerous Drugs Act.” He’d finally succeeded in lighting the smoke, and took a drag. “She was driving high on junk with her kid in the car, and she didn’t give a bloody fuck. She’s lucky they weren’t both killed.”

Linda blinked. She wasn’t sure what to say. “I don’t understand,” she said after a moment. “I thought John told us yesterday that they were only doing it recreationally.” 

“It’s junk, Lin,” he said, and he exhaled loudly. “There’s no such bloody thing of doing it recreationally, and since we’re talking about John, he’s a bloody liar when it comes to this shite. First it was grass, and well, whatever. That’s all right with me. John, though? He keeps wanting more and more, he needs  _ something _ to fill whatever void there is inside of him, and it keeps building and building. After grass it was acid, then he ran off and got himself addicted to  _ meditation  _ while we were in India, and now he’s gone off and gotten himself ‘accidentally’ addicted to heroin. How on earth is that an accident? He’s trying to pin himself in the role as the victim and I am tired of it. Do you know how long I’ve been the one picking up the pieces, Lin?” He stubbed the cigarette out in the beside ashtray, and promptly lit another one. 

“How long, Da?” Heather chimed in, clearly having been eating up the conversation with the eagerness of a child with listening ears. 

“A long time,” he told her. “Longer than you’ve been alive. Since we met at the fete.” He ruffled her hair. “I’m sorry, pet. I’m just tired.” 

“Are you sad?” She whispered, as she shifted away from Linda and curled into his side. Linda watched as he shifted his arm to embrace her, the practised motion appearing like he’d been doing it her whole life. “It’s okay to be sad, Daddy. Mum says so.” 

She sat up and reached for her camera to capture the two of them. 

“Maybe I am sad, luv,” he said after a moment. “Did Mum say that was all right?” He offered Heather a weak smile. 

“She says it’s okay for me,” she said. “So it must be okay for you, since you’re a grown up.”

He sighed. “Is it really okay?” 

“You’re allowed to have emotions, Paul,” she assured him. “I don’t understand where you got the idea that that wasn’t allowed.” 

Paul let out a groan. “You have to know it wasn’t, Lin. If I dared to show anything that was out of the norm, I’d get it in the ear. Sometimes in the face, too. Me dad, he used his fists when his voice didn’t get the results he wanted.” He coughed. “Can’t blame him, you know. I reckon he wasn’t expecting me mam to drop dead like that, leaving him to deal with both of us. I had to choose, being in the band, or doing what he wanted. I chose the band, and he didn’t well like that. Of course, it’s all well and good now that I’m world famous and bring in the money and his bloody horse at the track gets its winnings, isn’t it? It’s bloody brill.” He sighed. “I’m so tired. I just want to have things be back to normal. I didn’t want to be the leader of the bloody group, but someone has to be, don’t they? Otherwise nothing would get done and we’d be missing deadlines left and right. Everyone hates me because I’ve been the one to step in.” 

“I don’t hate you, Daddy.” 

“I know you don’t,” he said. “I wasn’t meant to include you and your mum in that.” 

“Have you explained why you’ve been acting like this to the others?” Linda dared to ask, though she was somewhat hesitant to do so. “I mean, really sat them down and explained the consequences of not meeting the deadlines, so they realise that you’re not acting this way to be above all of them, but that you’re doing it for the sake of the group, so that you’re not missing deadlines and destroying your contract with EMI?”

“John’s been impossible to reason with,” Paul muttered. “He kicks up a fuss and then as a result of that it’s been open season on me.” He shook his head. “They don’t understand. I’m not even sure if any of them have read the contract we signed. Brian used to handle these things. Now it’s all bollocksed up because he’s dead and no one knows what we were meant to do, and John’s supposedly the leader of the band and he’s now off in the Priory because he’s been addicted to junk for god knows how long, and even before he got on it he’s gone all funny on everyone. It’s like he hates me. After India…” 

“What happened in India?” Linda eyed him with confusion. “I thought you had a good time?”

“I don’t know what happened in India,” he said. “I thought that we had. I mean. Honestly, Jane and I, we thought the whole thing was a bit of a lark, but we still tried our hardest to take it seriously. John took it to extremes though. He meditated more than George did. He’d spend hours in his room.” He scrubbed at his face with his hand. “We got back and we went out to New York to promote Apple and it was like...I dunno, Lind. Like he changed. Completely.” He sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’d rather get a bit more rest, if it’s all the same to the two of you.” He yawned. 

“Daddy’s tired, Mum,” Heather added. “Maybe we  _ should _ let him rest.”

Linda sighed. “I’m not saying that we shouldn’t,” she assured her, mainly because Paul did look like he was going to fall asleep mid-sentence, and she didn’t want Hettie to worry. “I’m just saying that having a conversation about this wouldn’t be remiss. After we rest.” 

“Henry’s going to have a conniption when he hears about what Yoko’s gone and done,” Paul murmured, his lids drifting shut as he did. “‘Specially when I told the copper on the line what she’d done here. I bet that’ll hit the papers.” 

“You did?” Heather asked, as she reached out for Linda’s hand, and tugged her closer. Linda was happy to oblige the little one. “Why?” 

“She’d upset you,” he told her. “I didn’t want her to think it was something to get away with.” He yawned. “Come on, luv. It’s okay. Get to sleep.” 

Heather curled closer to him, and she flipped the blankets up over the three of them, before she settled down beside them and rolled onto her side, so that she was facing Heather and Paul. She wanted to ensure that Paul actually fell asleep. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him to do so, she just knew him too well. If Heather didn’t fall back asleep, Linda didn’t much mind. It was her boyfriend that she was concerned for. 

Fortunately, Paul’s resolve to stay awake and fight everyone’s problems was no match for the resolve of his exhaustion, and Linda heard him begin to snore quietly, though his hold on Heather never slackened. She then shut her eyes. The extra sleep would do all of them good.

* * *

  
  


Paul hadn’t regretted his decision to go back to bed. He had been knackered, and he definitely felt that he’d needed the rest, even though having a lie-in seemed to be the exact opposite of what he felt he should be doing. A proper band leader would have been at the studio bright and early (except that John had never managed that, had he?), and they certainly wouldn’t have gone back to bed with a recording session at noon without setting an alarm (actually, that bit did sound quite like John, the only difference was that Paul wasn’t coming down from numerous highs during his impromptu nap, and John definitely had been), but, well, if Paul was honest with himself, he had not wanted to become the band’s leader in the first place. He’d much preferred  _ not _ being in the thankless role of being in charge. 

Heather’s giggles had been what roused him, and he squinted in the direction of his daughter, trying to catch his bearings. Linda’s side of the bed was empty, her sheets rumpled.

“Hey,” he whispered, still more asleep than awake. “Where’d your mum go?” 

“To make breakfast,” Heather informed him. “She said that I could stay with you until you woke up.” 

“What’s she making?” Paul asked. He was starved. “Do you know what time it is?” 

She nodded. “Almost eleven, she told me,” she said. “Do you have time to eat with us?” 

“Course I do, ducky.” He sat up and propped himself up against the bed pillows, and patted his lap for her to join him. “Come ead. Sit with me while I ‘ave a ciggie.” 

Heather crawled onto his lap, still clad in her nightgown, and he ran his fingers through her hair, trying desperately to rid it of some of her bedhead. Once she had settled herself, he reached for his cigarettes and ashtray with a practised ease, having successfully mastered the art of getting his cigarettes without disturbing her. He lit one up, and inhaled deeply. The nicotine coated his lungs, providing him with a great deal of relief. 

“She’s making omelets and eggy bread,” Heather informed him. “And frying potatoes.” 

“You want to have eggy bread my way, or Mum’s way?” 

She gazed up at him. “Can I do both?” 

“I reckon, yeah,” he said. “I don’t see why that would be a problem.” He kissed the top of her head. “You really want to come with me?” 

“Yeah,” she said. “But I don’t have to sing, do I? Alone? Uncle Henry was just kidding?” 

“Yeah, he was having a laugh, he’s not going to make you sing,” he promised. “But, if you want to sing with me, I’m not going to say no.” 

“Maybe,” she said softly. “I dunno.” 

“Well, you think about it,” he said. “I’m more than happy to work with whatever you decide.” 

“You’d really sing with me?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, luv.”

“Is Mummy’s friend Eric going to be there? I didn’t know that he knew Uncle George.”

“I’m not sure,” Paul said. “Would that scare you?” 

She shook her head. “No, he can come. He’s nice to me. I went with Mummy to take her pictures of him.” 

“Did you?” 

She nodded. “Yes. I think that Mummy should bring her camera to the studio today.” 

Paul smiled at her. “I’ll tell Mummy that you suggested it, and that I think it’s a brilliant idea.” Heather flushed a bright pink. “You know that you’re brill, right, Hettie? Daddy loves you.” 

“I know you think so,” she whispered. “I’m not, though. Everyone at school laughed at me.” 

“Sod them,” he said. “They’re the wankers, that’s not on you. Why didn’t you say anything before?” 

“They said that you weren’t my dad,” she said after a moment, and Paul thought that his heart was going to snap in two. “I know that you’re my dad, but they said that you’d remember that I have another dad and you’d make me go back to him.” She sniffled. “And they made fun of my voice, even when I  _ tried _ to sound like them, to sound like you. You told me that it would be fine and I didn’t want you to think there’s something  _ wrong _ with me.”

“Come here,” he said, his tone soothing, and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, as she silently sobbed. “Heather, I’m not going to send you anywhere, okay? You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life. There’s nothing wrong with you, they were just being cruel. You’re my daughter. I’m so honoured that your mum is letting me adopt you, and that you want me to adopt you.” His cigarette laid forgotten in the ashtray. “Don’t pay those people any mind. You’re my daughter regardless of what they say, and regardless of whether or not you sound like you’re a Yank.” 

“You promise?” 

“Yeah, I promise,” he said. “And you never have to go back to that school again, not if you don’t want to.” 

“I don’t want to,” she told him. “Please don’t make me.”

“I’m not going to make you, Hettie,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” 

“Are you going to tell Mum?” She asked, as she pulled herself away from him and looked him in the eyes, her face stained with tears. “Da? Are you?”

“I think she ought to know,” Paul admitted. “We don’t have to talk about it now. Why don’t we dry your face and think about starting to get ready for the day? We certainly can’t go to the studio in our pajamas, can we?” 

She managed a laugh. “Daddy! No!”

“Oh, why not? Wouldn’t it be good for a laugh?” He teased, pleased when her laughter continued. “Cor, luv, I know that we shouldn’t. I reckon I’m not going to wear a suit, though,” he said. “Seems a bit silly to lark about in one to me.” 

People didn’t want him to act like a leader? That was fine with him. He was more than willing to accomodate them. 

“I want to wear the dress you bought me the other day,” she told him. “Can I?” 

“Of course you can,” he said. “You really like it?” 

She nodded. “Uh huh, yeah, I do.” He ruffled her hair. 

“Well, go on, then,” he instructed. “You put it on and then I’ll sort your hair out before I shave.” 

“But I  _ like _ your beard,” Heather said, and she touched her palm against the stubble that was growing. “Do you really have to?” 

“You really like it?” Paul asked. 

She nodded, and she shifted so that she was kneeling on his thighs. “You had it in New York,” she said, as she gave him a kiss. “Then when we went here, you got rid of it. I liked it. It was soft and cuddly.” 

“Well, that’s that, then,” he decided. “You’re sure that you like it?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But, it’s okay, if you have to shave it for work.” 

Brian would have had an absolute fit if Paul had shown up to work with anything even approaching a beard -- he partly wondered if the facial hair that they  _ had _ grown during the last year of his life had done a hand in doing him in, though he pushed the thought aside -- but Brian was dead and frankly Paul was done with his attempts at emulating a ghost. Brian was dead, and Paul missed him, and his death was very sad, but he didn’t much see the point of caring about a little facial hair when his daughter liked it and, frankly? Paul felt that his growing a beard was the  _ least _ of the band’s problems. 

Even if he left out the unfortunate fact that John had been hospitalised due to his his own utter stupidity -- drugs in general were one thing, but Paul had deludedly hoped that John would have more sense than to delve into heroin -- the band was floundering. They were nowhere near being done with their album, and he was exhausted. 

“I don’t have to keep it shaved for work,” he told her. “I’d be more than happy to grow it back for you. Now, go on, lovey. We want to have enough time to eat the food your mum cooked up for us.”

Heather crawled off the bed, leaving her stuffed animals behind in her wake, and Paul smiled at the sight of her tearing out of the room in order to get dressed. He didn’t much see what was so exciting about heading the recording studio to row and maybe contemplate working on a song, but what did he know? He hadn’t been Heather’s age in quite awhile. 

He climbed out of bed and padded across the room to the wardrobe, pulling out a jumper (that could have quite possibly been Linda’s) along with a button down shirt and a pair of denim trousers. He stepped out of his pajama bottoms and put on a new pair of boxers, yawning widely as he put the rest of his clothes on. Clearly the nap had helped, but not enough. 

Still. It had done him a world of good, though he was loathe to admit it. 

“Daddy?” Heather asked, as he pulled the jumper over his head. “I’m ready for you to fix my hair. Do you like my dress?” Her tone was downright bashful. 

“You look beautiful, Hettie,” he told her, and he smiled. “What do you think of what I’ve got on?” 

“Is that Mummy’s?” Heather’s eyes were wide. Paul nodded. “You look so pretty, Da.” 

“Well, that’s high praise, coming from you,” he chirped, and he knelt down so that he could lift her up into his arms. “Let’s go sort out your hair, and then we can eat. Did you have a good kip?” She nodded. He led them into the loo and grabbed her hairbrush, placing her on the floor in front of his vanity. “You actually slept?” 

He started brushing her hair. She nodded. “Uh huh, you and Mum were so tired, that Martha and I decided we ought to sleep too. She’s silly, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s what I say in the song about her, isn’t it?” 

“Maybe I could sing on her song,” she suggested. “That wouldn’t be so bad, if we sang about Martha.” 

“We can definitely sing about Martha,” he said, as he took a comb to her fringe. “Maybe I ought to write a song about you.” He patted her head. “But, you know, it’s like I told you, you only have to sing if that’s what you want. I’m not going to force you to.” 

“I know,” she said, and she held her arms out for him. “I love you, Daddy. Would you really write a song about me?” 

He lifted her up. “Of course I’d write a song about you,” he said, and he grinned as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Maybe we could replace Revolution Number Nine with it.” Paul was partly joking. Well. He wasn’t joking about taking the wonderful opportunity that John’s hospitalisation had given them to trim the record a bit, mainly by removing that horrible assault to the ears and his sensibilities. He would be more than willing to entertain replacements for it, however. “Would you like that?” 

She nodded into his shoulder. “A  _ pretty _ song, though. Not a scary one that sounds like that.” 

“Kitten, I don’t think I could emulate that piece of music on a bet.” 

He carried her out to the kitchen, where Linda was finishing up cooking their breakfast, and he crossed the room to where she stood, giving her a kiss hello. He was in a somewhat decent mood, and he vowed to continue it if at all possible. 

“Morning, Mamma,” he whispered, as he kissed her again. “Hettie and I are all ready for a successful day at the office. Aren’t we, luv?” 

Heather nodded. “Daddy said I can sing with him! We’re going to sing Martha’s song together.” 

“Are you, sweetie?” Linda asked, as she handed him a cup of tea. “That’s wonderful.”

“You should sing with us!” 

“I don’t know, Heath,” she said. “I’m not a very good singer. I don’t think that I’m the appropriate sound for the band.” 

“But I want you to sing with us,” Heather insisted. “Please?” 

“Well,” Linda said, as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I’ll consider it, okay? We’ll see what the climate is like when we get there.” She gave Heather a kiss on the cheek. “I can’t wait to hear what you and Daddy come up with, though.” 

“Can you put me down, Daddy?” Heather requested. “I want to give Mummy a hug.” 

Paul was happy to oblige Heather’s request, and he carefully lowered her to the ground, taking great care not to spill his tea in the process. That was the last thing he’d want to do. He took a sip of it, pleased with how it had come out. Heather had wrapped her arms around Linda’s waist, somehow oblivious to the fact that Linda was still cooking. Or would have been, had she not been held prisoner by their five-and-a-half year old. 

“We should help Mum, don’t you think?” He suggested, hoping to draw her over to him. 

“How, Daddy?” 

“Well, I reckon we’d be a big help if we sat ourselves at the table,” he said. “That way we’re not underfoot while she finishes up?” 

“Okay,” she said, and she pulled away from Linda, and slipped her hand into Paul’s. “Come ‘ead, Daddy. Did I say it right?”   
  


“You said it brilliantly.” He squeezed her hand. “You want me to pour you a cuppa milk?”    
  


“No, I want tea, like you get.” 

“I’ll get you your own cup,” Linda told her. “You and Daddy, you go sit, okay? You look beautiful, Heather.” 

“Thank you, Mum,” she said. “Daddy bought it for me.” 

“I know,” she told her. “He’s a good dad, your father.” 

Heather grinned. “The best.” 

Paul was glad that someone thought so, and he would have rather had Linda and Heather thinking that he was amazing and wonderful than the band, if that was what it came down to. At least they didn’t treat him terribly for daring to want things to go smoothly, for wanting what was best for them. 

He pulled out a chair for Heather and sat down in the spot beside her. He was half starved, but Linda’s cooking was worth the wait. It was actually edible, unlike his, and he looked forward to her meals whenever she made them. Sure, they still ordered takeaways every so often, but Paul loved having a home cooked meal, and he was glad that Linda was willing to make them for him. For them. There was something he liked about being with a woman who wasn’t afraid to be domestic. 

“Eat up,” Linda told him, and she put a plate down in front of his place. “You need your energy for the studio. Both of you do.” 

“Sit down, baby,” he told her. “I can get Hettie her tea.”

Linda gave him a pointed look. “I know when you’re stalling,” she told him. “I don’t understand why you don’t just go in and get it over with. It’s not going to go away if you ignore it, Paul. Especially given the fact that John has been hospitalised for a heroin addiction, and you ought to have a conversation about what that means for the record, for the band, probably try to do some damage control about what happened with Yoko earlier…” She trailed off. “Did you want to invite them here?” 

Paul choked on the sip he’d taken of Heather’s tea. “No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

“It was only a suggestion,” she said. 

“I know, but I’d really rather not,” he told her, as he placed the tea in front of Heather and popped a slab of bacon in his mouth. He was ravenous. “I’m not stalling, Lin, I just don’t see the point of getting to the studio with any sense of timeliness,” he admitted. “What’s the point? We’ll end up sitting there for hours doing nothing because if I dare to do a bloody thing approaching an actual consequence without the other two there they’ll stage a mutiny.” 

He started to eat his breakfast, determined not to allow the others to ruin his meal. Did they think that he  _ wanted _ to be the one in charge of everything that they did? George could barely be arsed to show up to rehearsals, and the thought of John listening to Paul himself was downright laughable, let alone him deigning to listen to either George or Ringo, but yet he was the one who was viewed as the problem because he wanted to get the album in some sort of shape for the Christmas rush? If George wanted to be left alone to his own devices so badly, well, Paul felt that actually buckling down and working on things in a semi-timely fashion would actually enable him to. 

“It’s good, baby,” he told her, and he squeezed her knee. “Much better than a tin of cold beans on toast.” 

Heather wrinkled her nose. “Ew, Daddy, you  _ ate _ that?” 

“See?” Paul quipped. “Aren’t you glad I have you and your mum here to help me see the error of me ways?” 

She nodded. “It’s good, Mum.” 

Linda smiled at them both. It was clear to him that the compliments had both pleased and embarrassed her, judging by the smile on her lips that complemented the flush on her cheeks. He thought that she looked adorable, and he leaned in to give her a kiss, mindful of Heather’s presence. The kiss on the lips was rather chaste, as a result of both their daughter being in the room, and the telephone ringing as their lips met. 

“Bloody hell,” Paul muttered to himself as he pulled away. “What the bloody hell do the wankers want now?” 

He reached over and grabbed the receiver for the telephone, pleased that the cord stretched far enough so that he could do so without leaving his seat. “Hullo,” he said, his tone short. “Paul McCartney speaking.” 

“Paul, it’s Ring,” Ringo said, his voice coming through rather clearly. “I’ve been instructed to ring you and find out if you’ll be joining us today.”

“It’s barely half eleven,” he said. “The session doesn’t start until noon.” 

“Well, you see, George and I are already here, and--”

“And?” Paul demanded. “And what? You find it annoying that I’m still at home? Find it difficult to work without me?”

“Well, it’s just that you’re normally early, and--”

“You’ll see me at noon,” he said. “You’ll be lucky if I show up on time.” 

“What’s gotten you in a snit?” Ringo questioned. “You weren’t the one who had to listen to George and Pattie fight the entire evening away.”   
  


“No one forced you to stay for that,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’ll come round. Don’t bother waiting for me to start.” He heard Ringo draw in a breath, clearly about to say something, but he slammed the phone into the receiver, leaving the drummer speaking to dead air. “How bloody dare they?”

“What?” Linda asked. “Did they just call to demand you drop everything and go over there? That’s hilarious. What about all the hours you’ve spent waiting on them?” 

“They have to be taking the piss,” he told her. “He had the nerve to say that I shouldn’t be aggravated because I didn’t have to sit there listening to George and Pattie sling barbs at each other because she wants a child and he clearly doesn’t.” Paul stabbed at the omelet on his plate. He was pretending it was one of his fellow bandmates. “They’re lucky that I’m still coming at all.” 

“Are you sure you want us to come with you?” She asked him. “If you changed your mind--”

“No, baby, I didn’t change my mind,” he assured her. “I want you and Heather to come with me. It is literally the only reason I’m going there at this point.” 

“If you’re sure?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, Mamma, I’m sure.” Then he kissed her again. “I love you and our Hettie.” He ruffled Heather’s hair with his free hand. “I promised her that we could sing.”

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George Martin huffed with disapproval. “What’s wrong with being a leader?” 
> 
> “What’s wrong with being a leader? Have you been huffing paint?” Paul questioned, in a rather demanding tone. “Look, someone had to be when Brian died, and who else could have done it? John has been on a downward spiral since we stopped touring, and do you think that he’d listen to either of them?” He gestured at George and Ringo. “If one of them had wanted to be the one in charge, I would have backed them up, but no one’s volunteered and someone had to be! We have deadlines we need to meet, at the very least for this album, and without Brian around it’s turned into absolute anarchy.” He shook his head. “Fine, you want me to be the leader? George asked me.”

“Can we bring Martha?” Heather asked Paul hopefully, as she sidled up beside him and grasped onto his hand. He looked down at her and gave her a crooked smile. “Please, Daddy?” 

“You want to bring Martha with us to the recording studio?” He asked her, the shadowed look that had been in his eyes replaced with an amused glint. She nodded. She didn’t know if the recording studio was a good place for dogs to go, but she figured that it was at least worth a shot. “Why do you want to do that?” 

Martha was eating the scraps that had been left behind from breakfast, and she seemed to be unaware that she was a focus of conversation. That didn’t matter to Heather. Heather loved the sheepdog just as much as she loved Thisbe and the other kitties, and almost as much as she loved her mum and her new dad. That was what Paul was to her, even if no one at school had believed her, and even if Paul being her dad and wanting it to be official meant that Uncle George and Auntie Pattie were fighting. She wanted Martha to go to work with them. Why couldn’t she? She was a good doggie. 

“So she can be there when we work on her song,” she told him. “It isn’t fair that she can’t be in the recording studio to hear it.”

Dad worried his lower lip, which she had learnt meant that he was thinking it over, and she formed her lips into a pout, hoping to get him to agree. Martha was still hard at work eating her second breakfast.

“Does it mean that much to you, duck?” 

She nodded. “Uh huh, I want her to hear it,” she said. “And, and, I can hang out with Martha while you’re doing grown-up stuff. You won’t have to worry about me.” 

Martha glanced over in their direction for a moment before returning her attention to her food.

“Well, I suppose we could bring her,” he said. “If she causes a ruckus in the studio, though, she’s going to have to be brought home, all right? We don’t want her making a mess of the equipment or anything.” 

“I can watch her,” she promised. “I don’t mind. I’ll make sure that she’s good.” 

He smiled at her. “I know you will,” he said. “You’ve been very well behaved when you’ve come to work with me,” he told her. “I’m very proud of how you’ve been acting. I know that it’s been loud and scary sometimes.” 

“That’s because Uncle John is sick,” she supplied. “He must not have been feeling well so he shouted a lot.” 

“Oh,” Daddy said, almost as if he hadn’t considered the possibility. “I never thought about that. You might be right, Hettie. Maybe that is why John has been acting the fool…”

Heather didn’t really know what was wrong with Uncle John, but he was acting rather strange, and Daddy had said that he had had to go off to the hospital with the funny name, so she thought it stood to reason that he wasn’t feeling well. Mummy had told her that hospitals were for people who were hurt, sick, or having babies, and she really didn’t think that Uncle John was having a baby, so it  _ had _ to be one of the other two options, even though Daddy was angry with Uncle John for having to go to the hospital with the funny name. 

“Is he sick?” 

“Who?” Dad asked. “Uncle John?” 

She nodded. He ran the hand that she wasn’t holding through his hair. 

“I suppose you could say that,” he said after a moment. “It’s very complicated, Heather, and I’m really not sure how I’m meant to explain it to you,” he told her. “It’s not that I don’t want to explain it to you, I just honestly don’t know how.” 

“It’s okay,” she said. “Do you think he’ll get better?” 

He sighed. “I hope so,” he said. “If he stays in the Priory and does the things that he’s supposed to do, I reckon he will.” He scrubbed at his face. “You really like me scruff?” 

“It tickles.” Heather truthfully liked when Paul had the beard because it meant that people left them alone, since they couldn’t recognise him. “I do like it.” 

“Cor, well, hopefully it will get the birds to sod off and leave us alone,” he muttered. “It’s all right if you don’t like them, Hettie. I’m not very fond of them either.” 

“You told them to be nice to me,” she said. “Maybe they will.” 

“Oh, they will be,” he said to her. “I’ll sort them out if they’re not. Why don’t we get Martha’s collar on her while we wait for Mummy to finish getting dressed? It looks like she’s done eating.”

Martha had abandoned the now-empty dish in favour of coming up to Heather and Paul, and she was eying them quizzically. Heather relinquished her grip on his hand to give the sheepdog a bear hug, which Martha dutifully tolerated. 

“I love Martha,” she said, her voice muffled from having buried her face in the dog’s fur. “She’s the best doggie ever. She’ll have so much fun at your work.”

“You think so, Het?”    
  


“Uh huh.” She nodded. “So so much fun.” Martha let out a bark, as if she was in agreement. 

“What’s going on?” Her mum asked, and Heather pulled away from the dog to give her a hug. She wrapped her arms around Linda, hugging her by the knees. “Hi, darling girl.” 

“Heather’s suggested that Martha might want to come with us to the studio,” Dad told her, and she could hear a hint of pride in his voice. She felt him ruffle her hair. “Seems to reckon that she ought to be present when we work on a new version of her song.”

“Is this true, Heath?” 

She nodded. “She  _ should _ hear her song,” she said. It was important to her that Martha recognised that she was the subject of one of Daddy’s songs. “And I don’t want her to be lonely without us, Mum. I know that she’s got Eddie and Thisbe and the others, but she’s my favourite.” 

“Well, if your dad said it was okay,” Mum told her. “I don’t have a problem with it. But she needs to be on a lead.” 

“That’s what I told her,” Dad said, the palm of his hand still stroking her hair. “Borrowing me trousers, I see?” 

“I could say the same thing about you,” Mum said to him, her tone teasing. “That top looks rather fetching on you.” 

“Doesn’t it, though?” Heather heard the click of a lighter, and she peeled herself away from her mum. Dad was lighting a cigarette. “Right, well. I reckon we ought to go over to the studio, whether I want to or not. Are you ready to go, Hettie?” 

She nodded, and she shouldered the bag that her arts and crafts projects were in. “Yeah, Da. Can I hold Martha’s lead?” 

“When we get to work, okay?” He told her. “You can be in charge of her there. It’s a very important job. You want me to carry you there?”

“Paul, you don’t have to carry her all that way,” Mum told him, even though Heather did want him to carry her there. 

“I don’t mind, Linda,” he said. “I don’t expect her to walk the whole way.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He took the cigarette out of his mouth and gave her a kiss. Heather watched the two of them curiously. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, once they’d pulled apart. He tucked her mum’s hair behind her ear. “You’d like that, right, Hettie?” 

Heather nodded. “Yeah, please, Dad.” 

“Of course,” he told her, and he knelt down so that she could climb on to his shoulders. “Hold on tight.” 

Dad’s work wasn’t very far from their house, and Heather probably could have walked it, but she liked when Dad carried her places, and since Mum and Martha had accompanied them, she liked it even more. She was taller than everyone that they passed. Dad seemed to have lost most of the good mood that he’d had earlier that day the closer they got to the studio, which made her sad, but she simply curled herself closer to him. The building that the studio was in loomed in their field of sight, and she heard him sigh. 

“What’s wrong?” She whispered. “You don’t want to sing with me?” 

“No, luv, it’s not you,” he told her. “I love singing with you. I just don’t particularly want to be in charge of the others.”

“I can do it,” she told him. “I can!”

“You want to be in charge of The Beatles?” Mum asked her. “That seems to be a thankless task, Hettie.” 

Dad chuckled. “Aw, pet. I love you, you know that, right? You’re a sweet girl trying to cheer up your old man. I couldn’t live with myself if I put you in charge of that sorry lot.”

“What about Martha?” 

“Wouldn’t do it to either of you,” he said. “Come ‘ead. Let’s just go in.” 

“Do you need to put me down?” 

“No, I reckon I’ll carry you,” he drawled. “If that’s fine with you. I’ll put you down if you want.” 

“No, don’t put me down.” 

* * *

  
  


“I thought I asked you to call him, Ringo,” George Martin said tiredly, as he lit up what felt like his umpteenth cigarette of the day. “Didn’t I? If I didn’t, I want you to do that.” 

“I have called him,” Ringo told him. “We had a conversation.”   
  


“Well, where is he?” He demanded. “He lives four streets away.” 

“I was left with the impression that he would be arriving when he saw fit,” Ringo said in reply. “He didn’t sound delighted to hear from me, so I didn’t want to argue with him. I’m surprised he’s even willing to come in at all.” 

George sighed. “And why is that? Paul has never been irresponsible like this,” he pointed out. 

“Technically, it’s not like he’s being irresponsible,” George Harrison said. “He’s got five minutes to get here on time before he’s late. Maybe he felt like having a lie in was a better use of his time.” 

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “He’s doing this on purpose because he  _ knows _ that I want to discuss the headline of this paper.” The paper sat on the top of the piano, its headline mocking him. “What was the point of allowing the press to print that feel-good story if he’s going to do things like press charges against John’s girlfriend?” 

George glanced at the paper with a look of disinterest. “Seems to me that he has a point, if she’s going round the twist and threatening to hop his privacy fence,” he said. “I doubt that it would have made the papers had she not almost driven into the front of the studio, ‘enry.” 

“You think Paul has a point?” 

“Sure I do,” he said. “He’s got that child of his to worry about. I can’t imagine it did young Heather much good to have Yoko show up out of the blue, ranting and raving at the crack of dawn. Surely you’ve noticed that she’s not a great fan of loud noises, or conflict?” 

“She’s not the only one,” Geoff Emerick said, his tone rather sour. “Look, is that really the hill you want to die on? Paul had every right to ring the coppers for that. It isn’t his fault that she’d gone and caused that terrible crash in the meantime. I just think that we should try to find some way to get along with each other.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Harrison said. “You said you didn’t want to work with us anymore, and now you’re back? Why?”

“Because I asked him to,” he told him. “I am hoping that with John’s absence we’re able to function in a manner more befitting of being in Geoff’s presence, George. Perhaps you could go see if Paul’s outside?”   
  


George rolled his eyes. “I have better things to do than set Paul off,” he said. “I’ve invited Eric today, and I hope everyone’s on their best behaviour.” 

The door to Studio Two opened, revealing the missing bassist, girlfriend and dog on one arm, and de-facto-daughter atop his shoulders. “Hullo,” he said. “Hi, Geoff.” 

“Hi, Paul,” Geoff said. “I saw you on the telly.” 

Young Heather offered up a shy smile. “Da said that we’re famous.”

“Are Heather and Linda staying today?” George asked. “Eric is coming by.” 

“You didn’t even ask me if you could invite Eric,” George Martin pointed out. “We have to discuss what we’re meant to do without John.” 

“And why can’t Eric be there for that?” 

Paul rolled his eyes. “He’s right,” he said. “Why can’t he? He may provide a fresh perspective that doesn’t involve me being forced into the role of leader, only to be ignored to my face, and mocked behind my back. He’s our friend. We all like him.” 

George Martin huffed with disapproval. “What’s wrong with being a leader?” 

“What’s wrong with being a leader? Have you been huffing paint?” Paul questioned, in a rather demanding tone. “Look, someone had to be when Brian died, and who else could have done it? John has been on a downward spiral since we stopped touring, and do you think that he’d listen to either of them?” He gestured at George and Ringo. “If one of them had wanted to be the one in charge, I would have backed them up, but no one’s volunteered and someone had to be! We have deadlines we need to meet, at the very  _ least _ for this album, and without Brian around it’s turned into absolute anarchy.” He shook his head. “Fine, you want me to be the leader? George asked me.”

“What did George ask you?” 

“He wanted to know if Eric Clapton could come by and play a few tunes with us,” he snapped. “And, you know, I said yes. Why not? He’s bound to be a friendlier chap than John has been lately. He’s not going to terrorise my daughter.”

“Who’s that man?” Heather could be heard, directed at Paul, as she eyed Geoff warily from her position atop his shoulders. “Dad? Do you know him?”

“Yeah, Hettie, that’s Geoff,” he said. “He’s one of our sound engineers. He’s a good lad. Perhaps he’ll help us when we record later.” 

“When you record later?” George Martin echoed. He could hear George snickering behind the newspaper he was pretending to read. “You and...the band? You and your girlfriend? You and Heather?”

“Right, well, I meant we as in myself and Heather,” Paul said, and he jutted his chin in his direction. “We’re doing a recording of Martha My Dear. That’s why she’s come to the studio,” he said, as he gestured at the dog. “As the leader of the band, I feel I can be afforded certain rights? Weren’t you saying that we ought to fill John’s hole in the group with Linda?” 

“You had to know I wasn’t serious--”

“Well, he is the leader,” Ringo pointed out, a smirk on his lips. “I reckon he makes the rules.”

“What are we meant to do with Eric, then?” 

“You’re not meant to do anything, Henry,” Paul said, his tone flat. “Why’d you have Ringo ring me, huh? It’s barely noon.” 

“Because he doesn’t understand why you rang the police after Yoko’s unexpected visit to your house this morning,” George informed him. “I reckon that he wanted to lecture you for...what did you call it? Needless strife and attention towards someone who we don’t need to draw attention to? Honestly, Henry,” he continued. “You have to know that the real reason they ran that special edition is because she crashed into a bobbie, and almost took out Sir Lockwood.” 

George blanched. “What?” 

“He’s been taken to casualty as a precaution,” he told him. “Did you actually read the article, or was getting angry at Paul for not wanting that woman to visit him your priority?” 

Paul had stepped forward, his fists clenched, and George Martin drew in a centring breath. “Now, come on, Paul. You can see why it would upset me to see that headline. Can’t you?” 

“Sod our image,” he spat. “You have bigger problems than Yoko -- and I’m tired of our bloody image. I just wanted to make my daughter feel better. Fuck. If I thought that her showing up like that was frightening, she must have been fucking terrified. Forgive me for not thinking, oh, I ought to not ring the police because it would tarnish our ever so fragile image. Where was this concern when they were busted at Ringo’s flat by the Drugs Squad?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Oh, you didn’t know? Funny. Lockwood did. Maybe you ought to speak to him when you visit him in casualty. You’re going to, aren’t you? Geoff can mind us in your absence.” 

“I can, Da,” Heather offered. “Mr. Geoff shouldn’t have to.” 

“Aw, duck, that’s sweet of you,” he said, and George marvelled at the hardened edge to his tone going away as he spoke to Heather, who was still clinging to his neck. “You needn’t worry about us, though, luv. Did you want to get down? Say hello to Uncle George and Uncle Ringo?” 

“Do they want me to?” 

“I’m sure that they do,” Paul assured her. “Come on. I’ll go with you.” 

“I thought that we were having a conversation--”

“No,” he said. “I think we’re done.” 

“Paul--”

“You want me to be the leader, yeah? Doesn’t that mean that I have rank? I’m the Beatle. If you’ve gotten me here to have a bloody strop about me protecting my family, I don’t want to hear it, Henry. They come first.” 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What happened to Brian was an accident,” George said. “Hare Krishna and all that. We’ll see him in the next life.” 
> 
> “An accident that could have been prevented,” Paul pointed out, his teeth gritted. “Just because the inquest deemed his death to be an accidental overdose does not mean that Brian was innocent in the events that led up to it,” he insisted. “He was getting prescriptions from doctors in Liverpool, London, and in the States, and he wasn’t being entirely truthful to any of them.” He shook his head. “That Hare Krishna comment was unhelpful, George.”

The conversation with George Martin had put Paul in a decidedly foul mood, though he decided that it was best not to let his emotions show. He was still angry. He had little desire to be the band’s leader, and was more than a bit annoyed that his attempts to get out of it had blown up in his face. It was clear that none of his protests had been enough to remove him from his unwanted position of power, and he did his best to appear outwardly neutral, at least until Neil and George had headed out of the studios to visit Sir Lockwood. 

If he was expected to be the proper leader of the band, well, sod it, he would be.

“Right, well, let’s have at it,” he told George and Ringo. Henry and Neil had left, and Heather and Martha had settled themselves down at the base of the grand piano, Linda sat beside them. “You heard him. He wants me to be in charge, doesn’t he? Lead the bloody band?” 

Paul lit a cigarette and continued to speak. “John’s locked up for who knows how long. What do the two of you want to do?” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’m open to suggestions.”

George arched a brow. “Is this a trap?” 

He shook his head. “No, I mean it sincerely,” he told him. “I’ll let the both of you do whatever you want.” 

“Whatever we want?” He asked. “What if what I want is more songs on our record? Are you going to allow that?”

He nodded. “Yeah, you can,” he assured him. “I don’t care you take up an entire bloody side,” he added. “If that’s what you want? Go for it.” Even the absolute _worst_ of George’s songs would be better than Revolution 9. Martha and Eddie barking for ten minutes would be less offensive to sell to the listening public. “Would you like that too?” He asked Ringo.

Ringo blinked. “Oh, no, that’s all right,” he told him. “No one wants to listen to me singing for more than a track or two at a time. I’m happy with the lot I’ve got this go round.” 

“Look, mate,” Paul said, and he scratched at his jaw. “I owe you an apology. I’ve been out of line, lately. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. You’re a good drummer, Ringo,” he insisted. “I’d like to re-record USSR, with you on the skins. If you’d like that.”

“You would?” Ringo’s tone was tined with disbelief. “Are you sure?”

Paul nodded. “Yes. I shouldn’t have bottled up me frustrations with John and taken them out on you and George,” he told them. “I was trying to get them to just go away but we know I was only forcing them out on the both of you, and you didn’t deserve that.” He sighed. “Lin, she says that having emotions is okay,” he explained. “She thinks it’s better to just express them. I don’t know if that’s necessarily true,” he allowed himself to admit. “But us bein’ all hostile and at each others throats can’t be very healthy for us either.” He shrugged. “Maybe we ought to call a truce--”

George interrupted him. “I’ll call a truce with the both of you,” he said. “Not John. Drugs or no drugs, he’d still find a way to slag me off.” 

“I wasn’t including John in that,” Paul said hastily. “I’m angry with him, too. Just for the sake of getting through this record -- and then, if it suits the both of you -- I reckon we need a break. A proper break,” he added. “At least a couple months off.” 

“You mean like a holiday?” 

“No,” he corrected. “I meant that we’re meant to remain a band but that we’re free to explore other things. I read our contract with EMI and we’re not required to have any subsequent albums out by any specific date, and the language in the contract states that if we wanted solo efforts could be substituted for--”  
  


“Where does that leave me?” Ringo asked, his tone rather morose. “A solo album? That’s all right for the two of you, but--”  
  


“What about your films?” Paul pointed out. “I thought you were in talks about a part in the new Sellers picture? Wouldn’t it be nice to just have to focus on it?” 

“And if you want an album with your name on it, we’d help you, wouldn’t we?” George asked. 

“Of course we would,” he told him. “I just think that recording this record has been very stressful for us, and that we would be doing ourselves a disservice if we didn’t take advantage of this wonderful break that John’s tendency to become chemically dependent has provided us with.” 

“Do you know how long he’s meant to be in there for?” 

Paul shook his head. “I didn’t dare ask,” he said. “I reckon that we ought to give him some time to settle in before we make contact. Remember what happened with Brian?” 

Paul did. Brian had essentially treated his stay at the Priory as an extended holiday (at best) and it had done next to nothing to cure him of his various dependencies and allow him to learn how to function without the aid of medications. And look where that had gotten him! Brian hadn’t even been on anywhere near the level of things that John had managed to get himself hooked on right under their noses, and he was now dead. Paul didn’t like to speak ill of the dead, but in this case he was more than willing to. 

“What happened with Brian?” Linda asked from her position on the floor. “He was a nice man, that time I met him.” 

“What happened to Brian was an accident,” George said. “Hare Krishna and all that. We’ll see him in the next life.” 

“An accident that could have been prevented,” Paul pointed out, his teeth gritted. “Just because the inquest deemed his death to be an accidental overdose does _not_ mean that Brian was innocent in the events that led up to it,” he insisted. “He was getting prescriptions from doctors in Liverpool, London, and in the States, and he wasn’t being entirely truthful to any of them.” He shook his head. “That Hare Krishna comment was unhelpful, George.”

“Why? Because you don’t believe in it?” 

“Because we’re trying to have a serious conversation here,” Paul pointed out, in a patient tone. “Believing in Hare Krishna is all well and good but it doesn’t really correlate to the current situation, which is trying to learn from what happened with Brian so that we don’t accidentally repeat it with John.” 

“If you hadn’t left India--”

“George,” Ringo said. “Do we really have to get into this? I left India too, and you don’t see _me_ being held responsible for John’s choices.” 

“I left India because I didn’t want to stay there any longer,” Paul said. “I’m sorry if John thought that we were getting something out of it that we weren’t, or at least, that I wasn’t, but you can’t blame me for all the decisions he’s ever made. I said that I didn’t see myself exploring myself in the way that he was, and I meant that. I’m not sayin’ that he’s a queer or anything, and I’m not knockin’ him if there’s some part of him that is, I’m sayin’ that that isn’t me, and that I’m not ashamed of it. I have a woman,” he pointed out. “I’m not discounting how he feels, or at least I didn’t think that I was. He obviously felt differently, but I can’t be someone I’m not.” 

He lit up another smoke. “And the other thing is there were better ways to handle that than shacking up with a woman like that, who spent literally months, if not years, stalking him, and then deciding that it was a brilliant idea to try heroin of all things. I get that he was angry, but that behaviour of his was absolutely crackers.” 

Heather had slinked up behind him, and she wrapped her arms around his leg. “Why’s Uncle John mad at you?” 

“He’s mad at everyone,” Paul told her, and he sighed. “He had an epiphany of sorts when we went on a retreat in India, and he expected me to have a similar standpoint, and I didn’t. You shouldn’t worry about it, luv.” He absentmindedly stroked her hair. 

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, before realizing that Heather couldn’t see him. “Yeah, Hettie, I wouldn’t pay him any mind. He’s not well right now.”

He had assumed that his reassurance would have led her to disengage herself from him, but it appeared that Heather was content to remain where she was, clutching his leg and prohibiting him from moving without exerting a bit of effort. He supposed that was all right. 

“I’m just sayin’,” George said. “John’s his own person. Maybe it was wrong to have him shipped off to the asylum with a bunch of loonies.” 

“Because being in that accident with Yoko would have been an improvement,” Paul said, and he barely managed to avoid rolling his eyes. “Why don’t we table the discussion about John while my child is present?” 

“Oh, come off it,” he said. “She doesn’t know what we’re talking about. She’s a child.”

“She knows more than you think,” he pointed out, and he may have purposely blown a cloud of smoke in George’s face. His implications that Heather was clueless did not make him at all happy, nor did the fact that he knew perfectly well that George was _delighted_ to find some manner to get a rise out of him. “That doesn’t mean I want her to know more about things that she shouldn’t know about,” he continued. “She’s a child, George. Just because--”

The door to the studio had swung open to reveal Eric Clapton standing there, his guitars in either hand. 

“Hullo, Eric,” he said. He offered him a wave. “Hettie, do you want to say hello to Eric?” 

Heather shook her head. 

“No?” Paul asked. “What if I pick you up? Would you like that?” She nodded into his pantleg. He effortlessly scooped her into his arms, the cigarette still in his mouth. “You remember me daughter, right, Eric? Young Heather Louise?” 

Heather offered him a shy wave, her head tucked against Paul’s chest. “Mummy took your picture,” she supplied. 

Linda had set herself to rights and stood up to join them. She greeted Eric as well. 

“Where’s John?” Eric asked. “He’s really that mad that George asked me to play?”

“You didn’t tell Eric what happened with John?” Paul demanded of George, who had the decency to at least pretend to look sheepish. “Why the bloody hell wouldn’t you?” 

“I didn’t think it was serious,” he said, and he raised his hands in defence. “Like you said, Brian was in and out, like it was a seaside resort. Maybe John’s going to show up to rehearsal?”  
  


Paul sighed, and he lit up another cigarette. “If John shows up to rehearsal,” he told them. “I will bodily drag him back to the Priory and stand there myself until they forcibly restrain him. I do not want him in this studio until he is painfully sober.” 

“Sober from what?” Eric asked. “What’s he gotten himself into now?” 

“It isn’t important,” Ringo said. “Look, Paul doesn’t want us bringing it up around Heather, and I don’t know that I’d want it being brought up ‘round Zak,” he said. “So I reckon he’s got a point. There are things that you shouldn’t discuss around children.” 

The studio intercom crackled to life. “If Eric’s here, are you planning on starting to record?” Geoff demanded, the tone evident in his voice, at least to Paul. “Or are you planning on spending another day sniping at one another with a band of guest stars? I mean, honestly, what else is new? You’ve been rowing with each other for months.” 

Paul grabbed ahold of the nearest microphone. “Oi, why don’t you sod off? You think that you have _any_ right to come in and make demands of us after you left without so much as a goodby? I’m sorry that we can’t put our discussions on hold to get to performing straight away. Don’t you think that we’d like to be doing that?”

The intercom crackled. “I just think that you ought to be more professional,” he told him. “No one wants to work with any of you, you know? You’ve been developing a reputation.” 

“That’s not very nice,” Heather whispered, though her comment was picked up by the microphone. “Why is he being mean to you?” 

“Because of Uncle John’s poor behaviour,” he told her. “Why don’t we let Eric work on some songs with George, and we can go in the other studio and you can watch Uncle Ringo play the drums on one of me tracks?”  
  


She nodded. “Maybe they’ll let Mummy take their pictures. She’s the best photographer ever.” 

“Yeah, she is, isn’t she?” He nuzzled her nose. “She’s brilliant at it.”

“I want to go with you,” she said. “Am I being a bother?” 

“No, you’re not being a bother,” Ringo said. “Who better than to keep us company than you?”

Heather beamed at the compliment. “Daddy, put me down,” she commanded. “I want Uncle Ringo to carry me.” 

“What?” He asked. “Heath--”  
  


“I don’t mind,” Ringo interjected. “You’d really like me to?” 

Paul reluctantly placed Heather on the studio’s floor, and she nodded, the microphone still in her grasp. “Let me put that back,” he told her. “We can’t take it with us.”

“Why can’t we?” 

“Because it belongs in this studio,” he said. “I don’t think that they’d be thrilled with us if it got misplaced, you know? You understand, right?” 

“Are there others? In the other studios?” She questioned. “You need them to work, right? How can you work without them?” 

“Yeah, luv, there are microphones in the other studios,” he assured her. “Why don’t we see if another one’s open?” 

What Paul really wanted to do was remove himself from Studio Two before he went up to the control booth and knocked Geoff Emerick upside the head, not that he particularly wanted to get into _another_ fist fight at work, and in front of his girlfriend and their daughter nonetheless. He was, however, very angry at the fact that he was _still_ being the person to blame for _every_ bleeding problem that had come to pass in the studio, even though he had made it very clear that he wanted little to do with the thankless role of leading the group. 

“I think that’s a good idea,” Ringo said, and he met Paul’s gaze. “Are you sure you want me to carry you, Heather? Maybe it’s a better idea for your dad to.”

Heather seemed to be considering this. “Would you bring Martha with us? On her lead?” 

Martha gazed at them with disinterest. Paul suspected that she had been soundly asleep, and that she really didn’t care whether or not she went to the other studio with them, and since Linda was there to keep an eye on her, Paul was willing to let the dog remain. Or he would have been, had Heather not stared up at him with a hopeful gaze, her eyes wide. 

“C’mon, mate, you can handle Martha,” Paul said in a rather jovial tone. “She’s a good lass.” 

“Would you sort her out for me?” Ringo asked Heather, who looked pleased to have been given a concrete task, and nodded her head. “Well, you sort her and I’ll be her chaperone. How does that sound?” 

“I think it sounds fun,” she chirped. “Am I really allowed to?”

“You heard Henry,” Paul told her, and he allowed some bitterness to seep through. “I’m the bloody leader. I can make whatever rules I want.” He knelt so that he was eye level with her. “I want you to come with us. I know that you’ll behave yourself, and I don’t want you to be scared with everyone in the room, and all of the noise, especially since you don’t know some of the people that are working with us today. Mummy wants to stay and take pictures, I think, and that’s fine. We can let her work. I don’t want her to be working and you to be scared if I leave you in here.” 

“I’m _not_ scared,” Heather insisted. “I’m a big girl.” 

“I know you are,” he said, and he kissed her forehead. “I just want to spend some time with you, yeah?” 

“And with Uncle Ringo?” 

“Yeah, he’s coming too,” he told her. 

“Why did you play the drums instead of him?” She asked. “Isn’t he the drummer?”

Paul shook his head. He ran his hand through his hair, messing up his fringe in the process. He let out a sigh. “Because I screwed up,” he said after a moment. “I wanted the song done a certain way, or at least at the time I thought that I had, and instead of letting Ringo handle playing the drums on his own, I decided that I would play them instead.” He glanced at Ringo for a moment before he returned his gaze to Heather. “We got into a gigantic row over it and Ringo decided that he would take leave from the band. I should have apologised to him, but I wanted to be a stubborn git instead. I thought that I was the one who was in the right. It was my song, wasn’t it?” He shook his head. “I was an arsehole. I don’t have an excuse for it. It was wrong for me to behave like that.” 

“You made a mistake,” she whispered. “That doesn’t mean you’re an arsehole.”

“No, making mistakes doesn’t make you an arsehole,” he assured her. “My behaviour, however, did make me one.” 

“So you’re doing the song again to make things better?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s why.” 

“Okay,” she said. “That makes sense.”

“And because you’ve never heard this one before, I want you to listen to it,” he said, pleased when her eyes lit up. “I love you, Hettie.” 

“I love you too.” 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t blame this on John,” he muttered. “Everyone finding out about what happened to him would be a disaster. Our brand would be ruined. We’d may as well release Cold Turkey backed with Number 9, and return our MBEs, and start parading down Barnaby Street starkers.” 

“Will you give me a piggyback ride?” Heather demanded of Paul, and Ringo was unable to hide his smile. “Please, I mean, will you?” 

“I do whatever you want that’ll suit you,” he said, and he squatted down so that he was low enough for her to climb on. “Especially since you asked me so nicely.” 

“Are you sure Mummy will be okay without us?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Paul said. “I know, you don’t like it when the birds are rude to her, do you? It bothers you how they act?” 

Heather nodded. “You spoke to them, though, so it’s okay, right?” 

“I’ll speak to them again if it isn’t,” he said. “What’s wrong?” 

“What if the man in the booth is mean to her?” Heather asked. “He was mean to you.” 

“He’s not going to be mean to her,” Paul said. “Mum’s allowed to take photographs in the studio, and he will bloody well let her do so in peace. Geoff’s not a bad person, Het, he’s just cheesed off because we’ve been acting naughty lately. But your mummy’s not been naughty, so I’m sure everything will be just fine.” 

“I want to hear your opinion on my drumming,” Ringo added, and Heather’s eyes lit up. “Surely you’ll be a fairer critic than your father.” 

She nodded. “I think you’re the best drummer, Uncle Ringo.”

Ringo smirked, and he met Paul’s gaze. “See?” He said. “I told you she’s a fairer critic.” 

“She’s not wrong,” he said. “You’re a good drummer, mate. Really. I shouldn’t have been critical of you, I was just going through a rough time with everything, you know? It wasn’t an easy time for me, at home or here.” 

“Why wasn’t it?” Heather asked. 

Ringo suspected that Paul’s rough time had been of his own doing, given that it had had to be absolutely exhausting to keep up with his revolving door of girlfriends, and Ringo had only been watching from the sidelines and not actually having to date all of them, but he also knew that Paul really wouldn’t appreciate him informing Heather that her mother wasn’t the only person that Paul had ever dated, especially if the girl worked out that Paul had started dating her mother and then proceded to date the others. Sure, that was because at the start of their relationship, it had been a fling, and Ringo understood that. Heather looked at Paul with hearts in her eyes, however, and he wasn’t going to ruin that in a quest for the blatant truth. Not when he could please the little one, and spare Paul from sticking his own foot in his mouth. 

“Well, you know your dad had met your mum by then, right?” Ringo asked her. Heather nodded. “I think that he was upset that you and your mum were on a whole other continent than him, and he was scared that when he met you you might not like him. Even though that was silly of him to think, because you like him a lot.”

“I love him,” she said firmly, as she climbed atop Paul’s back. “He’s my dad.” 

“Of course you love him,” Ringo agreed. “Why wouldn’t you?” 

Heather nodded, as she looped her arms around Paul’s neck. “Were you really nervous about meeting me, Daddy?”

“Of course I was,” Paul said, his colouring having returned to normal once it had sunk in that Ringo’s quick thinking had spared them Heather’s reaction to whatever tale had come to his mind. “It’s a big deal, you know, being your dad. I was scared that you wouldn’t want me to be your dad. I know that’s foolish, Hettie, but I’ve never been a dad before, you know, and I wanted to make sure that I did all right at it. You ready for me to stand up?” 

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re the best daddy ever, because you’re mine.” 

“That’s a good lass,” he whispered. “Come ead, let’s go into the other studio so they can work on their music, okay?” 

“Okay,” she chirped. “Come on, Uncle Ringo. We don’t want to disturb them.” 

Ringo picked up the end of Martha’s lead, and he allowed Paul to lead the way out of Studio Two, still rather bemused about the turn that the recording sessions had suddenly taken.

“What’s gotten into you?” He asked Paul. “You really don’t like being in charge?” 

“Would you?” Paul demanded. “Honestly, Ringo, would  _ you _ enjoy being in charge of a group of people who resent you for daring to want things to go even remotely smoothly? I recognise that things have been difficult for us since Brian died, but you have to realise that I didn’t want to become this defacto leader. Someone had to step in and  _ no one _ wants to.” 

“I--”

“I understand that it’s not fun anymore,” he said. “You think I haven’t figured out that I’m the only one who gives a bleeding fuck about being a Beatle? George only shows up when he’s told that he has to, and you...you show up but for how long? How long are you going to stick around before someone says something awful to you and you leave again? We have commitments to make, though, and I’m trying my best to maintain those commitments so that we don’t get caught on breach of promise.”   
  


“What’s that?” Heather asked. 

“We have contracts, Heath,” Paul told her. “We have to make enough music to fulfill them, otherwise the people at our record company will be angry with us, do you understand that? If we don’t release the album that we’re working on by the Christmas hols, people will be upset because that’s the time we promised that we’d be finished with it. I don’t want to be the one that breaks the promise, you know?” 

“But it wouldn’t be your fault,” she whispered. “Wouldn’t it be Uncle John’s?” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“He’s sick, isn’t he?” Heather said. “You and Mum said that he was too sick for me to visit, earlier, remember? So, if it’s someone’s fault, it’s his. He got sick and didn’t work on the record. Not yours.” 

“I can’t blame this on John,” he muttered. “Everyone finding out about what happened to him would be a disaster. Our brand would be ruined. We’d may as well release Cold Turkey backed with Number 9, and return our MBEs, and start parading down Barnaby Street starkers.” 

“We could always do a single LP,” Ringo pointed out. Paul glanced at him. “What? We could, couldn’t we?” 

“A single LP…?” 

He nodded. “I don’t see why not? Couldn’t we get two records out of the stuff we have? So we’d polish one up to release now, and we could set the others aside until we wanted to go back to the studio as a group. Or we might not have to go back as a group, if we’d be doing touch ups?” 

“John wouldn’t want that,” Paul pointed out. “He’d be angry with us.” 

“Seems to me like he’s lost any say in the matter,” Ringo said. “The world shouldn’t have to stop because he’s had to go into a treatment centre.” 

He heard Paul draw in a shuddering breath. Clearly being in the position of leader -- and the conversation that had occurred between him and George Martin earlier -- had shaken the younger man, and Ringo felt genuinely guilty for pressing him on the subject. At the same time, though, he didn’t think that he was wrong to suggest that Paul act as the leader if people were holding him to the position.

“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “He’s already so angry with me. What if doing that makes him never want to speak to me again?” 

“Then he’s being mean,” Heather said. Ringo watched her tighten her arms around Paul. “He shouldn’t have left you in charge if he didn’t want you to do things.” 

“You’re just saying that because I’m your da.”

“No! I’m not,” she insisted. “Grandpa makes Uncle John be in charge of things  _ he _ doesn’t want to do, so why doesn’t Uncle John that’s here make  _ you _ be in charge of things he doesn’t want to do? And he can’t do them, because you and Mummy said that he had to get better and couldn’t be focusing on work, or having people see him. Uncle Ringo’s right.” 

Ringo tried not to preen. 

“I don’t want to be in charge, that’s the thing, Heather,” Paul said. “You don’t understand...I don’t mind helping your mum and being in charge of you, that’s something that I want to do because you’re my daughter, but this is nothing I’ve ever wanted.” 

“You said that when you finish the record, we’d go on holiday.” 

“I did say that, didn’t I?” 

She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “You promised.” 

“We can help your dad with that goal by dubbing my drums onto the song we’re working on,” Ringo told her. “A holiday sounds fun, doesn’t it?” 

“I’ve never been on a proper holiday before,” she said. “I want to go with Da, and Mum. Daddy’s been to so many places.” 

“I bet that none of them will be as fun as going with you.”

“Do you really think so?” 

“Of course I do.” 

* * *

  
  


“Right, everyone,” Paul said when he re-entered the studio, Heather and Martha having led the way, and Ringo at his side, still feeling rather unenthused about actually claiming a whole-hearted role of leader, but reckoning that it would be easier to just get on with it. “Richie and I have an idea that we’d like to share with you.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Where’d Eric go?” 

“We finished what he’d come to do and he went home,” George supplied. “Why? Did you want him to have stayed?” 

Paul shook his head. “No, that’s fine,” he said. “I was just wondering where he was. If he’d just gone off to the loo I would have waited to include him, simply to avoid being rude.” He sighed. “Why didn’t you come get us?” 

“You were busy,” Linda said. “We didn’t want to disturb you.” 

“He’s only just gone,” George added. “How did the overdubs go?” 

Paul didn’t have the energy to answer for Ringo. He’d thought they’d gone well, but they weren’t his overdubs, now, were they? No. So it was Ringo’s job to answer for him. 

Or, apparently, Heather’s. “They were so brilliant,” she told George, appearing for a moment as if she was going to approach him, but deciding rather quickly to retreat back to where he stood. “Uncle Ringo’s the best,” she added, as she wrapped her hand around his. 

Ringo flushed. “Thank you, Heather,” he said. “I appreciate the compliment.” 

“What’s the idea?” George asked. 

“A single LP,” he said. “I’m not suggesting we scrap the songs that don’t make it on there, what I’m suggesting we do is that we save them for the next record. Well. We can remove Number 9 from contention, I reckon.” The song gave him a headache. 

“Do you think we have enough material?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, we have enough to work with, especially with what you worked on today,” he said. “I think it’s for the best, especially given the state of most of the pieces John’s been working on lately.”

“I don’t have an issue with that,” he said. “I’d just as soon be done with it.” 

“You don’t like my dad?” Heather asked. “Is that what you mean?”

“It’s got nothing to do with him,” George said. “I’m just tired of being a Beatle, Heather, it’s exhausting. I’d rather put the album out and be able to explore new things before we get back to the studio as a group. It’s not anything personal towards your father, I just want to do things like play with my other friends and maybe go back to India.” 

Heather wrinkled her nose. “What’s so special about India?” 

“Pattie and I like it there,” he said. “Maybe you ought to go?” 

“I think that we’ll be going someplace else for our family holiday,” Paul said. “If the point is to get a break from being the Beatles...why would it make sense for us to go together?” 

Paul did not want there to be a break from being the Beatles, but he wanted the current situation that they were in even less, so he had essentially given up. It wasn’t as if they could truly carry on without John, anyways. Having Eric in was fine for a few recordings, but John would have a fit if he’d been replaced without anyone telling him. Paul really wouldn’t have been able to blame him. 

“I want to go with you,” Heather insisted. “You won’t leave me, will you?” 

“Don’t worry, I was talking to Uncle George,” he said, hoping to reassure her. “I don’t plan on ever leaving you, not for something so foolish as a holiday.” 

“Okay,” she said. “I want to be there for your record party.” 

“Why would we have one of those?” George demanded. “Those are bloody horror shows, Heather. You’re given a never-ending list of questions that the press seems to think you ought to answer, and then they’re printed all over the world and bastardised beyond recognition. You’re expected to care about the album even though you’re sick of it and never want to listen to it ever again, and then you’re expected to pose for a series of--”   
  


“Be quiet, George,” Paul snapped, before he turned his attention to Heather, who looked somewhat distraught due to George’s reaction. “Heather, love, why do you want us to have a party when we release the record?” 

“Because that’s where you and Mummy met,” she said after a moment. “I just wanted to go. But not if they’re horror shows. I didn’t think they were scary.” 

“They’re not scary,” he told her. “Don’t pay him any mind. If we have a party for the record, I promise that you’ll go to it, right, Lin?” He drew his gaze away from Heather to look Linda in the eyes. “That’d be fine, yeah? If we brought Heather?” He held her gaze for a moment, while Heather squeezed his hand. 

“Of course it would be,” Linda said. “Maybe when we get home, we can look at the photographs from the release party?” 

“The ones of you and Daddy?” 

“Of course,” she said. “We can look at them the whole night, if you want.” 

Of course, Paul and Linda both knew that the Sgt. Pepper’s launch party wasn’t their first meeting, but they’d come to the decision that it was an entirely wholesome one for Heather to be aware about. There was photographic evidence to be found, after all, and there was no need for her to hear about dirty weekends in California, or having met each other at the Bag o Nails, at least, not while she was so young. Not that he ever wanted her to hear explicit details on the dirty weekend -- he knew that she’d be old enough to have heard those details at some point, but the thought of that made him blush -- but the Bag o Nails? He didn’t have a problem with that. He’d have told her now, had she not already spotted the photographs and fallen in love with the idea that that had been where daddy had met mummy. 

“We can look at them all night, Hettie,” he confirmed. “For as long as you want.” 

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’d like that.” 

“I’d like that, too,” he agreed. “I always like looking at pictures of me and your mum, of you, of our family.” 

“Mummy should take our picture together,” she told him. “Will you, Mum?” Heather’s eyes had lit up at the thought, and she giggled as he swung her back into his arms. He heard Linda’s shutter click. 

“Is that what you want? Me to take pictures of you and Daddy?” Linda asked her in a teasing tone, the camera going the whole while. 

“Yes,” she insisted. “I want you to take pictures of us, and I want you and Daddy to be in the photographs with me, too,” she told her. “Is that okay, Mum? Will you take a picture with us?”

“Yeah, come ead, Lin, take a picture with us,” Paul said, and he beckoned her closer. “It’s what the little lady wants, innit it?” He kissed the top of Heather’s head. “Well, you know, I want it too. Ringo can take our photograph, can’t you, mate?” He nodded in Ringo’s direction. 

Ringo snapped to attention. “Yeah, sure I can,” he agreed. “It won’t be a problem at all. I’ll take as many photographs of you as you want.” 

“Ringo’s a good photographer,” he told her. “He’ll get a nice picture of us. We can put it up on the wall.” 

“Wait, what are you doing?” George demanded. “Are you taking a family portrait?” 

Paul nodded. “Yeah, you know, we are,” he said. “And we’ll be having a launch party for the new album. Hopefully John will be sorted by then. I can’t believe you would even think of denying Pattie a chance to be seen, let alone my daughter.” He kissed Heather’s cheek. “That’d be fun, wouldn’t it? The party?” 

Heather nodded. “Yes, especially since you and your friends aren’t going to see each other while you take time off.” 

“See?” Paul smiled at George. “We’d have it as a going away party. Come on, Heath,” he said. “Smile at Uncle Ringo.”

He reached out and pulled Linda close to him, resting his hand on her hip, and smiled a genuine smile at the camera. It had been awhile since Paul had meant a smile that he’d given at EMI, and whether it was because he was posing for a photograph with his babies, or because they had finally found a way to deal with the album, well, that, Paul wasn’t sure of. But if he was happy, what did the cause matter? He decided that it truthfully didn’t. 

“That ought to sort it,” Ringo said, after he’d taken a few photographs of all of them. “I’d like to see them when they’ve come out, if you’d want me around, and all.” He handed the camera back to Linda. “I understand if you just want to be done with us, though.”

“I don’t want to be--you don’t understand,” Paul said, and he tried to keep his temper down. “We’re miserable, Richie, and I don’t know how to make that better. Nothing has worked so far, and it’s exhausting. I’m taking it out on Linda and Heather, and I hate it, and I’ve tried so hard to get things back to how they were before -- before India, before Brian died, hell before we stopped touring even! Maybe a break’s what we need. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “What I know is that we can’t do anything without John, not beyond finishing this record up. He’d be so angry if we did, and I can’t do that to him.” 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s bad enough what you did to Paul,” she told George, her tone firm. “I don’t understand why you don’t at all care what damage you’ve done to John. What possessed you to do that? What were you thinking?”
> 
> “It’s always been the two of them, you know, against me,” he said. “Why couldn’t I try to give them that extra push?”
> 
> “You did this because you wanted attention?” Paul sputtered. “We’re meant to be mates, George. The lot of us. Does that mean nothing to you?” Heather had pressed herself against his chest. “If you had a problem with how you were being treated, you should have spoken to us, like a bloody adult. Not behave like a child would!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is not known what specifically happened in India to cause the rift between Paul and John, but we know that something did happen. We know that John contemplated having an affair with Paul at some point but discounted the possibility, and we know that George had issues with his placement in the band. Yoko has post-humously outed John as bisexual. The attitudes that are reflected in this story are products of the time period in which it set. The story is a fictionalized account.

“I say we sod John, and hire Eric on,” George said to Paul, and Linda bristled somewhat at the harshness of George’s tone. “What does it matter what John wants? He’s the one who's gotten himself into the Priory in the first place.” 

“This is not up for debate,” Paul said, and Linda felt him stiffen as he stood beside her. “I said that we wouldn’t be doing that. I don’t care if Eric plays with us on the album that we’re currently making, but this is John’s band. I’m not giving him the sack while he’s in hospital. Why do you care, anyways? You don’t even want to be here.” 

“Well, maybe I would want to be here if we had Eric as a member?” 

“I don’t care,” Paul told him. “You want to be underhanded and cruel, and it’s not on, mate. How would you have felt if we’d gone and replaced Richie without a bloody warning when he went off to Sardina?”

“I wouldn’t have suggested we do that,” he said. “John’s the problem.” 

“Oh, you want to get into problems?” Paul demanded, and the hand that was intertwined with hers tightened its grip. “What about how your decision to drag everyone in the band with you along on your spiritual awakening set John off on this path of self destruction? You act like John just woke up one day and thought that he’d take up with this Oriental woman and start shooting junk, like it’s some  _ mystery _ as to when he fell apart.” 

“My decision?” George asked, his tone hardened. “You were the one who told him that you couldn’t love him.”

“Because I can’t!” Paul exclaimed. “I’m not going to flaggate myself for not being a queer, George. If John wants to explore that side of himself, well, that’s all well and good, but I had every right to not want ‘im putting the moves on me with Jane in the next room, and he did it anyways. He didn’t give a bloody left bollocks about the fact that we were engaged, and about the fact that I told him that I wasn’t into blokes. I told ‘im that before, after he’d beaten Bob Wooler nearly half to death, and I’ll tell him that again, and again, until it sticks.”

“He thought that India would open you up to things--”

“I told John that nothing was going to happen between us,” he said. “Hell, the fact that I’ve never shagged a bloke should have been a hint, if he was bound and determined to ignore the fact that I told him it was a non-starter. Why’d he think that about India, George? What--”   
  


“Fine, okay? I told him that you’d come around once you’d been on the retreat for long enough,” he admitted. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. Who cares if you’re not into blokes? I reckoned you’d go along with what John wanted to keep the peace.” 

“To keep the peace?” 

Linda had to admire that Paul was being fairly successful at keeping his cool. It was frankly impressive. She supposed the fact that Heather was clinging to his leg had something to do with it. She knew that their daughter grounded him. 

“Well, you know, for the good of the band and all that,” George said, his tone blase. “I mean, you could imagine my shock when you got angry.” 

“You thought that I would, what, ditch Jane and shack up with John because he wanted me to, for the sake of the band?” 

“What’s the big deal?” 

“The big deal is that you were playing with people’s lives, George!” Paul said, his tone exasperated. “I don’t know how to point out to you that you were being reckless, and you toyed with John’s emotions and did not help with his mental state when I, quite reasonably, told him that I wasn’t interested in him as more than a mate, and that I didn’t appreciate him trampling over my boundaries! You know how John is! Why would you do that to him?” 

“I didn’t know that he actually meant it! I thought he was just trying to process what happened with Brian!”

“That’s a terrible excuse,” he spat. “Even if he was grieving Brian, you set him up for me to reject him. You had to know I would.”

“Why? Because of Jane?” 

“Because I can’t feel those sorts of feelings that John feels for me,” Paul said. “Even if we took Jane out of the equation, or Linda out of the equation...I can’t. I tried to, when he first asked me, but, for me it’s unnatural. I can’t do it.”

“Wait,” Linda said. “You’re telling me that you tried to manipulate Paul into having a relationship with John?”

“We were in India,” he said. “The Maharishi wanted people to expand their horizons. It was fine by Lennon.”

“That doesn’t mean that Paul was meant to completely change his sexuality,” she said, her tone firm. “Even if that was the only thing that was keeping the band from being torn apart, it was inappropriate to do. Even if John was fine with it,” she added. “That doesn’t change the fact that it wasn’t acceptable. What were you thinking, George?”

George appeared to be pretending as if he hadn’t heard her. 

“Mum asked you a question,” Heather said. “Answer her.” 

“I don’t need to answer your mother,” he said. “I had my reasons.” 

“Oh, so now you’re the one who’s going to be rude to Linda?” Paul snapped. “Do you and John take turns playing pass the parcel with that task?” He lit up a smoke. “It ends now. We have enough songs to put forth for the album. I’ll ring Henry tomorrow and have him sort out the order.” 

“Da--?”

“Come on, Heather,” Paul said, and he scooped her up into his arms. “Mum and I are going to take you home.”

“Why is everyone being so loud?” She fretted. “I don’t like it.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to shout, duck, we’re going to leave. Come on, Lin.” 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Linda informed George, and she picked up her camera and bag. “I cannot believe that you didn’t know that was inappropriate. You can’t toy with people’s lives like that.” 

“What? Toy with people’s lives? It was just a lark. I reckoned that Macca would lay one on him to give him a thrill. How was I meant to know that he was planning on breaking John’s heart?”

“Come off it, George,” Ringo said. “That was unnecessary for you to do. Now John is in the hospital and you’ve made Paul want us to stop playing’ together--”

“I’ll still play with you, mate,” Paul interjected. “You can give us a ring. I don’t have a problem with you.” 

Linda had to admit that Ringo looked rather relieved at Paul’s response, and she managed to hide the fire in her eyes when she offered him a smile. It wasn’t his fault that George had decided to meddle in his bandmates lives, and not bother to admit to having done so while there was any hope of remedying the situation. In doing so he had damaged so many things, and he didn’t seem to care, which was the aspect of the situation that made her the most upset. 

“It’s bad enough what you did to Paul,” she told George, her tone firm. “I don’t understand why you don’t at all care what damage you’ve done to John. What possessed you to do that? What were you thinking?”

“It’s always been the two of them, you know, against me,” he said. “Why couldn’t I try to give them that extra push?”

“You did this because you wanted attention?” Paul sputtered. “We’re meant to be mates, George. The lot of us. Does that mean nothing to you?” Heather had pressed herself against his chest. “If you had a problem with how you were being treated, you should have spoken to us, like a bloody adult. Not behave like a child would!” 

“I want to go home,” Heather whimpered, her voice barely audible, but the child’s request was enough to make Paul’s anger deflate, almost instantaneously. “Can’t we?” 

“Yeah, luv, we’re going home,” he whispered. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry if I’ve scared you.” 

Linda came up beside Paul, and wrapped her arm around his waist. She gave Heather a kiss on the head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re heading home. I think you and Daddy both need a break from the studio, maybe even a nap…” She smiled at Paul as he wrapped his arm around her. “What do you say, Papa?”

“I say that we ought to get out of here,” he said. “I’ve said my piece. We’ve finished recording. What more am I hanging around here for?” 

“I think you have a good idea,” she told him, and she pressed herself close against him. “We can go home, settle in, have a cuppa, and look at the photographs that Heather wants us to look at. Do you still want to?” 

Heather nodded. “They’re my favourites. Can we look at the ones from New York, too?” 

“Of course,” she assured her. “Whatever you want.” 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Paul had spent the entire walk home from the studios stewing in silence, more than a bit perturbed by the entirety of the situation, but not wanting to snap and upset Heather with his anger. That was uncalled for, and unnecessary, and he knew that. He just couldn’t believe that George had been beyond John’s behaviour during their retreat -- he had assumed that John’s unhappiness with Cynthia and his anger that Paul had proposed to Jane had been the cause of the matter -- and the fact that they had only been told of it now? That made him want to storm back to the studio and wallop him. 

If it hadn’t been for Heather, he definitely would have, but he had been trying his best to do right by the girl, and needlessly traumatising her by punching George in the face, even though the wanker’d deserved it probably wasn’t the best way to get her to calm down. Or the best example, really. 

“Here we are,” he said, and he released Martha from her lead and allowed her to bound up the front steps. “Home sweet home.” He shifted his hold on Heather. “You want to get down, sweetheart? Or do you want me to carry you in?”

Heather shook her head. “Carry me,” she requested. “I don’t want to take a nap.”

“Why don’t you? Don’t you want to nap with me and Mummy?” 

“Are you going to let me stay with you?” She asked, and she glanced at him and then at Linda. “I’ll nap if I can stay with you.”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Linda told her. “What about you, Paul?”

“Yeah, Het. You can have a kip with us,” he said. “Why don’t you run off and get your pyjamas on, and come meet us in our room when you’ve gotten yourself sorted?”    
  


He carefully placed her on the hallway carpet, and motioned for Linda to shut the door behind her, pleased when she locked it without him having to say so. He was tempted to tell the handful of girls that he hadn’t scared off with his previous admonishments to say something rather quite colourful if anyone that was even remotely associated with the band showed up, but he forced himself to tamp down his baser instincts. 

“What about you and Mum?” Heather asked, her tone curious. “Are you going to nap in what you’ve got on?”

Paul glanced down at his clothing, and then glanced over at Linda. “No, we’ll get ourselves sorted as well,” he told her. “Did you want anything to drink?” He directed the question at both Linda and Heather. “A hot cocoa, maybe, Heath?” 

“I want a hot toddy,” Linda said. “Or we could have cocoa. I just want ours to be stronger.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry, Mama,” he said, his tone low. “Ours will be.” 

“I want whipped cream,” Heather demanded. 

Paul normally would have asked her to rephrase her request, but he decided that it wasn’t worth getting into, given that she had clearly been over-stimulated in the recording studio, thanks in no small part to him lowering himself to George’s level and having raised his voice. 

“Only the best for my little girl,” he promised her. “Go on, now, get yourself in something comfortable. You want to wear one of my t-shirts?” 

She nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Yeah? Well. Tell you what, why don’t you wear the one I’ve got on?” 

She giggled. “Daddy, don’t be silly!”

“No, I’m not being cheeky,” he told her, as he pulled his jumper and button down off at once, leaving him clad in the t-shirt he’d worn underneath it all, and his jeans. “See? I can take me shirt off, and give it to you, right here. It’s just us and Mummy, she doesn’t mind, do you, Lin?” 

“I don’t mind getting a chance to see you shirtless,” Linda said in response. “You know that only a fool would turn that down.” 

He grinned at her, and he leaned over and pressed his lips to hers. “You’re certainly not a fool.”

With that settled, he slipped the shirt off, and presented it to Heather. “Go on, it’s okay. I wouldn’t have offered it to you if I didn’t want you to have it. Go put it on and settle yourself in the bed and wait for me and mum.” 

“Okay,” she said, and she gave him another hug, before pulling away, the shirt clutched in her hand. “I’ll meet you in there.” 

Paul watched her head down the flat’s hallway, in the direction of her bedroom, and he couldn’t help the goofy grin that he sported as he did. He couldn’t believe that Heather had taken what he’d said at face value instead of asking Linda for confirmation, and the fact that she’d done so made him feel pretty chuffed. He still wasn’t entirely used to the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, her dad. Regardless of anything official, he was her father, and it was clear to him that Heather was actually starting to internalise that instead of thinking that it was something that was temporary, and going to go away. Because he wasn’t going to go away. He loved Linda, and he loved Heather, and nothing was ever going to change that.

“What’s with the sudden change in mood?” Linda asked him, as she picked his discarded clothes off the floor. “I thought you were upset?” 

“She likes me,” he told her. “She’s really considering me to be her father.” 

“Of course she is,” she said, her hand resting on his lower back. “You’ve been worried about that?” 

“I know that she loves me,” he said. “She’s my daughter. I know that. I just...it made me happy when she believed me outright this time, instead of wanting to check with you to make sure that it was okay.” He looped his arm around her waist. “I knew that it would take some time for her to feel comfortable doing that, I’m just excited.” 

“You’re her dad, just as much as I’m her mum,” she told him. “I think…” She trailed off. 

“Yeah, Lin?” He whispered, and he brushed his hand through her hair. “What is it?” 

“Maybe we ought to do things the proper way. We could get married. That would pave the way for you to officially adopt her.” 

“I thought that you didn’t want to get married again,” Paul pointed out. “You know that I’d marry you in a fortnight, if you wanted.” He ran his fingers down her arm. “I just don’t want you to do something that you’ll regret.” 

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “My first marriage was a mistake, but you, you love me, and you love Heather, and I know that. I wouldn’t want anything to jeopardise that.” 

“I’d love to marry you,” he whispered, and he kissed her softly. “We ought to do it right, yeah? Make sure everything’s sorted? I don’t want to rush into it. If you’re going to be me wife, I want to do things how they ought to be done.” He squeezed her hand. “But, you know, Heather’s already said that it’s okay if I married you. She’d like that. So we ought to tell her that we’re engaged.” 

She grinned up at him. “I think that would be sweet. Why don’t the two of you get settled together, and I’ll make us the cocoa?” 

“That sounds like a plan,” he said. He kissed her again. “I love you, baby.” 

“I love you, too,” she whispered, and she patted his arse. “Go on. Go be with our daughter. I’ll be in a moment.” 

Paul -- though he was still annoyed by George’s behaviour, and he was not in the mood to see the band’s lead guitarist for awhile -- was in a decidedly better mood when he and Linda parted ways, and she headed into the kitchen while he made his way down the hallway, and into the master suite. He promptly shucked off his trousers and dressed in his abandoned pyjama bottoms, not bothering to bother with a shirt. What did he care? He had nothing to hide from either of them. He kicked his trousers in the general vicinity of his hamper, letting out a disappointed groan when they missed, and he dutifully went to retrieve them, not wanting his newly-minted fiancee to have to do needless tidying up after him. 

With that responsibility sorted, he sprawled out on the bed, managing to fill the majority of the space. It wasn’t that he was planning to stay like that, far from it, but when it was just him, he felt that he was allowed. 

Heather could be heard giggling, and he propped himself up to look at her. The shirt that he’d given her to wear looked like a tent on her, but he thought that he looked like the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. 

“Hey, kitten,” he called out to her, and he patted the spot on the bed beside him. “Come sit with me.” 

She climbed up beside him, and he felt her crawl on his back, clearly keen on seeing how long he could withstand her laying on him. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I’m a kitten?” 

“You’re my kitten,” he told her. “Do you not want to be called that?”

She shook her head. “No! I like kitties! I could be a good kitten!”

“I like kittens, too,” he assured her. “Most of all, I love you.”

She giggled. “I love you too,” she said, her excitement evident in her voice. “I love you more than I love kittens.” 

“Oh, you do, eh?” He teased. “How do you reckon that?” 

“Uh huh, I do, because you’re my daddy,” she insisted. “You’re the best daddy ever in the whole wide world.”

“Yeah? You really think that?” Paul was touched. “You know, you’re the best daughter in the whole wide world. I love you so much, Hettie.” 

“I love you so much, too.”

Paul smiled at that. He loved Heather so much. He couldn’t wait to officially adopt her, and marry Linda. He’d really not expected either to happen. Joseph had agreed to relinquish his rights, but the caveat had been that they needed to be married, before he would let Paul adopt Heather. This had been something that Paul felt was unfair -- sure, Joseph was her biological father, but he’d never even bothered to meet Heather, so who was he to give Paul and Linda any sort of demands -- but that had only been because while he had wanted to marry Linda, she had been hesitant. The fact that she was no longer reluctant to marry made him, in turn, more willing to forgive what he still felt was a foolish, punitive, clause. 

Paul didn’t know what had caused Joseph to treat either of his girls as if they were rubbish, but he had to admit that a part of him was grateful, since it had meant that he was the one that Linda had fallen in love with, the one that she’d chosen to make a family with. He just knew that there was a part of Heather who felt rejected by her biological father, even though she had no recollection of him, 

“Are you really done with the record?” Heather’s question broke his spell of contemplation. “We don’t have to go back?” 

“You’re not going back unless you want to,” he assured her. “To answer your question, yeah, I’m done with the record.”

“Because of those things Uncle George said about you?” 

Heather had rolled off his back, and he sat himself upright, propping himself up against the bed pillows. He reached for the joint that he kept on the nightstand, and his book of matches, and he lit it up, taking a rather healthy drag. He was not amused in the  _ slightest _ by what George had been doing lately. What had happened earlier had been the icing on an incredibly trying cake, and given that Heather -- his bleeding  _ five _ year old -- had noticed that George had been behaving badly...well. It went without saying that Paul was unamused by the entirety of the situation. 

“Come here, sit on me lap,” he suggested, and he opened his arms to her, pleased when she took him up on the invitation and scrambled onto his lap. He kissed her tenderly. “Yes,” he admitted. “I am not happy because of that conversation. The reason that I’m not happy with it is because George decided that it was appropriate to toy with John’s emotions, and manipulate him into thinking a situation that wasn’t going to occur was going to happen, just because we were in India.” 

Paul was being deliberately vague. Heather was five, after all. Did she really need to know that John might have decided he was queer? He didn’t think so. 

“He was being mean,” she told him. “Like the kids at school.”

“Ah, lass, you might be right,” he told her, and he ran his fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry that the kids at your school weren’t very nice to you, sweetheart. Were they nice to you at all?” 

After a moment, she shook her head. “They didn’t like me. At all. Because I’m from New York and because I’m your daughter. At first they thought I was making things up and then they got mad because I  _ wasn’t _ making things up.”

“Sod ‘em,” he said. “You’re my little girl. You’re better than those wankers.” 

“I didn’t tell you because you told me that they’d like me,” she added. “You said that everyone would like me, because you liked me and that made me special.” 

He let out a sigh. “I thought that -- I thought that everyone would,” he said. “I didn’t realise that people would make fun of you for being from New York, or for being my daughter,” he admitted. “The thought never occurred to me. I meant what I said.”

She glanced up at him. “I know,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Paul felt like it was. He was her father. Wasn’t he meant to protect her? He kept bollocksing it up, over and over again, and it was a feeling that he hated. He hadn’t realised that he was going to make mistakes. Though, he supposed it was inevitable. His parents had certainly made mistakes with him and Mike, and he reckoned that his dad and Angie were doing so with Ruth. And he didn’t even want to approach how utterly terribly John was behaving at being a dad. The drugs were part of it, he was sure, but even when he hadn’t been on heroin John’s behaviour had been somewhat lax when it came to fatherhood. 

“Still,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry.” 

She kissed him. “It’s okay. I just don’t think your mates like me much either,” she whispered. “I don’t know why.”

“I think that we need a break from each other, the others and me,” he told her. “I don’t think that it’s anything personal, Het. They’re just obnoxious.”

She sighed. “But, Uncle Ringo’s nice to me. He taught me how to play the drums, and he lets me play with Jason and Zak.” 

“I know,” he told her. “That’s why I said that we’d still see him. You like playing with them?” 

She nodded. “Why does Zak get a little brother and not me?” 

“You’d like to be a big sister?” He asked her, as he parted her hair into a plait. “You reckon that’s something you’d be okay with?” 

Linda had come into the room, the drinks in hand, and was leaning against the doorway, clearly listening to their conversation. He offered her a smile.

“Yes, Daddy, I told you. I want to be a big sister,” she insisted. “So much. It’s not fair that I can’t be.” 

“Who’s told you that you couldn’t be?” Linda asked her. “Has anyone?” 

She shook her head. “I just...don’t you have to be married?” 

“That’s what Daddy and I want to talk to you about,” she told her, as she placed the mugs of cocoa down on the bedside table, and crawled on the bed to sit beside them. “Do you want to talk, honey?” 

“You need to put on your pyjamas,” Heather told her. “Come on, Mum.” 

Paul smirked. “Yeah, c’mon, mum.” He leaned over and grabbed his mug, taking a sip from it. “This is perfection, baby. Just like you.” He nudged over the shirt that he’d slept in the night before. “Go on, put it on, yeah?” 

“Oh, you’d like me to, wouldn’t you?” She teased, and she pressed her lips to his for a moment. “Oh, fine, I’ll humour the two of you.” 

Paul handed Heather her mug, and monitored her carefully as she drank from it, though one eye was lingering on Linda and her increased state of undress. He still couldn’t get over how lucky he was to have found a real woman like her, and how lucky he was that she had chosen to be with him, to raise a family together. 

“Is that better?” Linda asked them. His thermal shirt barely touched her thighs, and it hugged her in just a way that made it obvious that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and it took all of his self-control to remember that their child was present and that it wasn’t the time to ravish her. 

“You look beautiful,” he assured her. “Doesn’t your mummy look so beautiful?”

“You’re so pretty, Mum.” 

Linda blushed. “That’s sweet of the two of you.” 

“I meant it, you know,” he whispered in her ear, as she reclaimed her spot on the bed beside him and Heather. “You always look beautiful.” 

“I want to cuddle in the middle,” Heather informed him. “Can I?”   
  


“Course you can, Hettie,” he said. “Mummy and I have something that we want to tell you, you know?” 

Heather wriggled in between him and Linda, her plait bouncing as she settled in. “What is it?” 

“You remember when I called you on the phone, and I asked you to marry me?” Paul asked her, and she nodded. “You said that you were too young but then I told you that I wanted to marry Mummy?” 

“Uh huh,” she said. “You said that you wanted to marry her.”

“Today we decided to get married,” he told her. “Are you okay with that?” 

“When we get married, Daddy can become your dad legally,” Linda told her. “I know that he’s your father now, and I think that’s wonderful, but wouldn’t it be nice if everything was official?” 

Heather glanced at both of them. “You mean, like, he’d really be my dad? No one would think I was lying?” 

“Yes, honey, he’d really be your dad,” she said. “We’d get married, and we’d all be McCartneys.” 

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “I want to be a McCartney. I want Dad to really be my dad.” 

“Well,” he said. “That’s sorted, then. I’ll ring the registers’ tomorrow, to see what we have to do.” 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No,” she whispered, her fingers massaging his scalp. “I don’t think that it’s daft. You’re right. If he finds out that you knew about this and didn’t tell him, it would start off another row between the two of you. You need to tell him.” 
> 
> He sighed. “Yeah, I know.” 
> 
> “Won’t you feel better if you just spoke to each other? I mean, really, Paul. I don’t think that you should let something that John can’t even help feeling end your friendship. Was it a problem for you before?” 
> 
> “I don’t care that he’s a queer,” he said. “I just don’t want him trying to get with me. That’s all. I never meant for it to be a capital crime.” 
> 
> “Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” 

Calling the Register had been the simple part of what Paul had to do to ready themselves for the wedding, and there was no task that he dreaded more than the one that awaited him today. He had decided that visiting John to inform him that he and Linda were engaged to be married was preferable to him finding out through other means. Paul didn’t want to imagine what those means would be, but he knew that it was the cowards way out to not at least try to speak to the man. They were mates, after all, even if George and the Maharishi had attempted to manipulate the two of them in manners that Paul found to be deeply inappropriate. He was still angry at George for that. It had been absolutely uncalled for. 

“Why can’t we go with Da?” Heather could be heard asking Linda, as she knelt beside her on the settee. “If he’s going to visit Uncle John, why can’t we go?” 

There was a part of Paul who wanted to take them along with him, but he felt like this was something that needed to be just him and John, even if he really much rather preferred not being in a room with John, and only John, given how they had left things off, and the fact that he was detoxing from heroin. He felt that there was a need for caution. 

“He needs to visit him alone first,” she told her. “They need to have a chat, just the two of them, and maybe the next time we can go visit him, okay?” 

Heather let out a loud sigh. “I guess,” she said. 

“Why don’t you bring me the pictures you’ve coloured for him?” Paul suggested. “I’ll bring them with me, and I’ll tell him that you did them especially for him.” 

“You really think that he’d like them?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, Hettie. I think that he will.” And if John didn’t? Well. Heather didn’t need to know that. He wasn’t planning on killing her spirit. “I’ll bring us back some McDonald’s,” he offered. “You want a cheeseburger?” 

She nodded. “With everything on it.” 

“Well, of course I’ll have you sorted with the lot of it,” he promised her. “Don’t you worry.” He gave her a grin. “Come ‘ead, you get all of your stuff, and I’ll sit here with Mummy while you sort it out.” 

“You promise that you’re going to come back?” 

“Yeah,” he assured her. “I’m going to come back. I won’t be gone very long.”

Heather gave him a scrutinizing look, and her brow furrowed. She was clearly weighing the truth of his words against her feelings of potential rejection. 

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “I believe you.” 

“Come here,” he said. “Want a hug?” She nodded, and he crossed the room to where she stood, and scooped her up in his arms. “I’m not going to leave, ducky,” he whispered, as he nuzzled her cheek. “I just need to have a talk with Uncle John, and I think that I owe it to him to just be the two of us.”

“I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I just don’t want you to do what Uncle George wanted you to do.” 

He sighed. “Look,” he said. “Uncle George is an arsehole. I’m not going to go off and play happy families, or whatever, with Uncle John, and I guarantee that he knew that when he manipulated Uncle John into thinking that I would.” He shook his head. “He told him that because he wanted to cause trouble, not because he wanted to see if John and I would be happy together.” 

“He came by again,” she informed him. “Mum said that you weren’t in, but you were in the bath. She lied to him.” 

“It’s fine, I told her to,” he said. “I’m not speaking to Uncle George at the moment.” 

Paul was still very annoyed by what George had done, and he used the honorific that Heather had given him with a bitter edge. George was only coming by because their argument had upset Ringo, and their drummer seemed to think that Paul had the energy or desire to fall for an insincere apology. It was possible that he might have done so in the past, but he didn’t have solely himself to consider -- he had to think of everyone in his family, including Heather and Linda, and it was obvious that George considered his involvement with them to be something of a lark, and an inconvenience. 

Paul didn’t care that his decision to adopt Heather had caused Pattie to press George on the potential of them adopting -- their troubles were none of his business, and he wasn’t going to stop wanting to adopt Heather because acknowledging the concept of adoption was something that angered him. 

“Why aren’t you?” 

“Because he upset me,” Paul said. “He didn’t need to behave how he did and lie about it for months, and he should have said something about his involvement in the debacle sooner, maybe prior to John deciding to embrace the allure of junk? Instead he kept quiet and let John spiral into this addicted, depressed state that ended up with him being hospitalised, and he doesn’t seem to actually care. It’s all a lark to him.” 

“Oh,” she said. “That makes sense.” 

“Well, I’m certainly glad that it’s gotten through to someone,” he quipped. “Why don’t I put you down, luv? So you can collect your portfolio?”

She nodded, and she kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Da.” 

“I love you, too,” he assured her, and he placed her carefully on the floor. “I’ll just sit here with your mum, okay?” 

“Promise that you won’t leave before I get my stuff together?” 

He nodded. “I promise, I’m not going to leave until after you’ve done that. I’ll stay right here, with your mummy, and I’m going to have a ciggie.” He reached for the pack of cigarettes that was sat on the table nearest the settee, but Heather beat him to it, taking the packet in hand and presenting it to him, an impish smile on her face. “Oh, you want to help me?” His tone was teasing, but he was sincere in his question. 

“I got them for you,” she said. “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is,” he said, and he stretched himself out on the furniture, his head landing in Linda’s lap. “You want to be a good girl and get me me matches and me ashtray?” 

She nodded. “I’ll get it for you.” 

Linda started to run her fingers through his hair, and he stuck the cigarette in his mouth, lighting it with a match when Heather returned with them. He took a healthy drag of the cigarette, and exhaled a cloud of smoke before he addressed her. 

“Thanks, darlin’,” he said, and he reached his hand out to draw her close. He pulled her into a hug. “Go ahead, get your things sorted.” 

Heather kissed his cheek. “Okay, Da. I will.” 

“I’ll stay right here, until you get back,” he promised. “Don’t worry about me.” 

He took another drag. Paul really had little desire to visit John at the Priory, but he had been avoiding the visit long enough, and it was really quite juvenile of him to continue to ignore the fact that John probably deserved to hear that he was getting married -- no, John definitely deserved to know that he and Linda were engaged -- from him, rather than from the papers. 

Paul let out a sigh. 

“What’s wrong?” Linda asked him, the concern evident in her tone. “Are you all right?”

“Just more than a bit fed up by this,” he admitted quietly. “The whole bloody thing that could have been avoided had George not gotten it into his head that it was a great idea to try to manipulate John into thinking that I had changed me mind on us being together.” He sighed. “I just wish that things were different, and that I didn’t have to go into a sanitorium to visit with him. It shouldn’t have gotten to the point that it had.” 

“You don’t have to go,” she reminded him. “I’m sure that John would understand--”

“I can’t let him find out about us in the papers,” he said. “He’s my mate, but that’s not why, I respect our relationship more than that. I couldn’t make it a cop out. No. I’ll go, and I’ll tell him the truth.”

“The truth?” She echoed. “You mean that we’re getting married?” 

“That, and the whole sordid lot of it,” he said. “He deserves to know that he was manipulated by George and that  _ giggling _ Indian megalomaniac guru! No, he’s not worthy of the title of guru. He’s a fraud. Full stop. He’s bound to find out anyways, Lin, and I would much rather him be in a locked ward when he does, because as angry as I am with everyone involved in that, I prefer to be angry at them while they’re among the living.” He realised that he’d nearly smoked the cigarette down to the filter, and he took a final puff, before ashing it out. “Is that daft? If you think it’s daft, I won’t tell him.” 

“No,” she whispered, her fingers massaging his scalp. “I don’t think that it’s daft. You’re right. If he finds out that you knew about this and didn’t tell him, it would start off another row between the two of you. You need to tell him.” 

He sighed. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Won’t you feel better if you just  _ spoke _ to each other? I mean, really, Paul. I don’t think that you should let something that John can’t even help feeling end your friendship. Was it a problem for you before?” 

“I don’t care that he’s a queer,” he said. “I just don’t want him trying to get with me. That’s all. I never meant for it to be a capital crime.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?” 

Linda had offered to go with him, numerous times, and he had always refused to concede on the matter. John was his problem, and his problem alone. What did it say that he was leery of dealing with him on his own? How was he meant to do right by his family if he couldn’t stomach the thought of one lousy visit? 

“Isn’t it my problem?” He asked her, as he lit up another smoke. “I mean, John. He’s my mate, right? I’m not saying that he’s a problem, I don’t hate ‘im or anything. He’s clearly not been in his right mind for years at this point. I just...you don’t think that you going with me means that I’m a failure?” 

“A failure at what?” Linda’s tone was filled with disbelief. “What would you possibly feel that you’ve failed at?” 

“Protecting our family,” he said. “What? Isn’t that what I’m doing?” 

“Paul,” she said. “You don’t have to protect us from John. Trust me, I’m not scared of him, and, miraculously, neither is Heather. I’m not even saying that we’d have to go into his room with you. We could wait in the hall. I’m just saying that we could be there, in case you need us, or in case John wants to see us.”

He sighed. “You reckon that he might?” 

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t have an answer for you. But Heather isn’t going to let wanting to see John go. I get that you want to protect her from him reacting poorly, but you could do that anyways, and you wouldn’t  _ have _ to make a separate trip to see him if you don’t want to but he agrees to see her. You could just pop out in the hall and fetch her.” 

He scrubbed at his chin. What she said did make sense, and he rationalised that it might be in his best interest to just listen to her when she said it. If he barely could muster up the desire to see John now, how would he manage to do so when it became time to allow him to see Heather? He didn’t know if he’d be able to manage it. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “The two of you can come with me. But we’re taking the car, all right? The last thing I want is to be spotted on the tube and harangued by the fans.” 

“We get to go with you?” Heather piped up, and he managed to hide his shock at her sudden appearance, and gamely offered her a smile. She approached the two of them, a carrier bag with her artwork in her hands. “Is that what you said?” 

He nodded. “Mummy and I have decided that that makes the most sense,” he told her, and he patted the settee beside him, pleased when she scrambled up and perched herself on him. “The both of you are coming with me, but you might not be able to see John, okay? I’m going to ask him if he wants to see you, and if he doesn’t, we’ve got to respect his wishes. He’s not feeling well, remember?” 

She nodded, her fringe falling in her eyes. “That’s why he’s in hospital.” 

“Right,” he agreed. “But he might feel up to seeing the two of you, and that’d be brilliant, wouldn’t it?” He reached his hand up to her face and smoothed out her fringe, pleased when she gave him a giggle. “I hope that he feels up to seeing you. I know that you miss him.” 

“I hope so too,” she said, and she straddled his chest. “But, it’s okay if he doesn’t. You said he’s not feeling well.” 

“We just don’t want you to go alone,” Linda added, and Heather nodded. “We want to support you.” 

“I want to go to McDonald’s with you,” Heather said, her eyes gleaming. “And what Mum said.” 

“I want to go to McDonald’s with you too,” he assured her. “You know that I’ll take you and your mum wherever it is that you want.” 

“I know,” she said. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Are you sad, Daddy?” 

Paul considered the question before he responded. “No, luv, I’m not sad. I’m doin’ all right. I’ve got you and mum to help me feel better.” 

She wrapped her arms around him, and he stuck his cigarette in his mouth so that he could wrap both his arms around her, instead of just one. He knew that Heather loved him, considered him to be her dad, and he knew that she needed to know that the feelings of love were mutual. Of course they were. Paul was her father. She was stuck with him. But the feelings that she was unwanted by Linda’s family, and of course the fact that her biological father had had nothing to do with her, had both done a number on her self esteem. It broke his heart. Anything he could do to bolster her self worth, he was going to do. 

“How would you feel if Daddy and I made you a big sister?” Linda asked her. “Would you be okay with that?” 

She nodded into the collar of his shirt. “Yes, Mum. Is there a baby? Am I going to be one?” 

“No, not quite yet,” she said. Heather pouted. “Daddy and I are going to do our best to make there be one, okay?” 

“I want to be a big sister,” she insisted. “The  _ best _ big sister in the whole world.” 

“You will be,” he assured her. “I see how you are with Ringo’s boys. You’re good with them. You’ll be brilliant with a little brother or sister of your own.”

“I hope so.” 

“You will be,” he said. “I promise. Isn’t that right, Momma?” He reached behind him to ruffle Linda’s hair. 

“That’s right, Papa. Of course you’ll be a good sister, Heath. We just wanted to make sure that you’d be okay with a new baby.”

She nodded. “Da said if there was ever a new baby it wouldn’t take me place. That he’d still be me daddy. He wouldn’t love the baby more.” 

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he reminded her. “I love you so much. I have more than enough love to share with you and however many siblings your mum and I decide to give you.” 

Who cared what biology Heather had? Paul certainly didn’t, and he didn’t care what anyone had to say about it. She was  _ his _ and that was a fact, and it didn’t hinge on anything, not even him and Linda staying together, even though he hoped that they wouldn’t end things, because he loved her, and he wanted to marry her, and sod what everyone said about that, too. All Paul had ever wanted was to have a family, to get married, and to be a dad, and he damn well knew that he was fully capable of being a damn good father to Heather. She’d come as part of the package with Linda, and Paul had decided that he was all-in on being in her life from the moment Linda had mentioned the fact that the little girl had existed, even though she had insisted that he only needed to be as involved as he wanted. What Paul had wanted was to be as involved as possible. 

He loved kids. He loved their daughter the most. 

“Can we see Ruth soon?” Heather asked. “I want to show her the horses.” 

“I reckon we can sort something out with me dad and her mum,” he said. “I’ll have to give them a ring when we get home from visiting John, yeah?” 

“You promise?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, I promise. I know you like spending time with Ruth.” 

“Grandpa adopted her like you’re going to adopt me,” she reminded him, her expression practically bashful. He grinned at her. “So that makes her my...aunt, right?” 

“Cor,” he agreed. “But she’s young. You can just call her Ruth. I wouldn’t bother with the formalities.” He ran his hand through her hair. “Come ead, we ought to get going.” 

“Okay,” she said. “I’ve gotten Uncle John everything I made him. Can I sit between you and Mum in the car?” 

“That’s up to Mummy.” 

Heather turned her attention toward Linda. “Mum?” 

“You really want to?” Linda asked. She nodded. “I won’t stop you, if it’s what you want.” 

“You know she likes it, Lin,” he said, as he reluctantly pulled himself to a standing position, Heather now lifted into his arms. He hadn’t wanted to put her on the ground. “She’s our little girl. She likes to be in the centre of the action.” 

Linda took a picture of them. “I like hearing you say things like that, you know? Our little girl?” 

“Well, maybe I reckon I like saying them,” he said, as he gamely smiled for the camera. “Smile for Mum, duck?” 

“She doesn’t have to,” she said. “She can do whatever she wants. It’s more natural that way.”

“Well, you’re the photographer,” he told her. “Me, I’m the musician who’s always being bloody told to smile.” 

“Why?” Heather asked. She glanced up at him, her gaze confused. “You get in trouble when you don’t smile?”

“People expect certain things of us,” he told her. “They want us to be a certain image, even when we’re not like that all the time, but that’s what people are used to. It’s how we’ve presented ourselves for ages.” 

“For how long?” 

“Oh, a long while, now,” he said. “Since before you were born.” 

* * *

  
  


“I just don’t understand why you’re telling me this now,” Cynthia said after a moment of silence, and John watched her as she stirred her tea. “I mean, why  _ now _ , John? We’ve been married since 1962 and you didn’t  _ think _ that this might be something that you tell me about?” 

He shrugged. “I didn’t think it should matter,” he said after a moment. “Paul told me that he never had those feelings for me, and I didn’t think he did until we went to India the second time. Yoko convinced me that he had hidden them deep inside, and I wanted to believe her. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t see me how I wanted.” 

“You went to that woman over this instead of your own wife?” 

“You wouldn’t have understood,” John said in defence. “Look, I asked you to come because the psychotherapist thinks that being open about these things is important. It’s not a crime anymore, and I’ll stay with you if it suits you. I won’t go back to Yoko.” 

John thought that that was a reasonable proposition, and he didn’t quite understand why Cynthia bore an expression on her face that was akin to the expression a person wore when they smelt food that had gone by, and not the expression of someone who was filled with gratitude because their husband had agreed to drop his divorce petition. 

“Do you have any idea what you put me through?” Cynthia demanded, her tone practically a hiss. “Your behaviour has been out of control, John, and you expect me to just put up with you when they get you out of here? Do you think that I don’t know about what you’ve been up to? It isn’t just the heroin,” she said, and she brandished a finger at him. “I’ve read your files. You were on  _ acid _ for over two years! Constantly!” 

“I don’t have an excuse for that,” he said with a shrug, and he lit up a cigarette. “I just needed something to take the edge off, that’s all.” 

“Take the edge off?” She asked, in an entirely shrill tone. “What do you mean, take the edge off? You think that that’s an appropriate reasoning for spending over a  _ year _ in an acid-induced fog in our sitting room? Normal people have a drink, John. They don’t delve into hallucinogens!”

“Isn’t that why you sent me here?” John demanded. “You couldn’t just let me be?” 

“No, I couldn’t,” she said. “You think this is all a lark, don’t you? The head of your label’s still in hospital because of your little Jap bird,” she informed him. “They don’t know when he’s going to be released. That could have been you! She could have killed you, or you could have killed yourself, and you think that you’re in here because I’m a drag.” 

“Well, that’s because that’s what you are.” 

She shook her head. “You’re in here because your stupidity could have gotten a five year old killed! You know that Paul brings that girl into the studio with him, what possessed you to leave a bag of junk just sitting there?”

He offered a bitter laugh. “She’s not just some girl to him,” he muttered. “He’s really gone and decided that the role of the involved father is what he prefers to play, instead of the bachelor about town.” He rolled his eyes. “You were there. You heard him.” 

“I assumed that he said that because he wanted to take the attention off me.”

“No, he means it,” John said. He rolled his eyes. “I don’t get him. Any bird in Swinging London and he picks one who’s already saddled with a sprog, and then he decides to commit to caring about the girl, too.” 

“Why does it matter to you?” Cynthia asked. “I mean, if he’s happy, why do you want to ruin that? If you really loved him, you wouldn’t care who he’s happy with, or why.” 

“Because he was meant to be happy with me!” 

“You’ve gone potty,” she said. “You think that Paul would have ever gone queer? Paul? The man was juggling five girlfriends. It’s strange enough that he’s limited himself to one. He’s not going to change who he is just because that’s what you think he ought to do. If being with that woman, and being that girl’s father, makes him happy, why the hell do you want to ruin that?” 

“You’ve met her. She’s a tweedy drag. Actually, she’s kind of like you, except she’s actually managed a career.” 

“If she makes him happy, that should be making you happy,” she hissed. “Do you want to lose Paul as a friend, John?” 

“I wouldn’t--”

“You might, and--” 

There was a knock at the door, and John squinted in the direction of it. “Come in,” he said. “Let them in, will you?” 

Cynthia opened the door. “John didn’t tell me you were coming by.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s because he didn’t know. Aren’t you going to let me in?” 

She made a huffing sound. “We’re meant to be trying to fix our marriage.”   
  


“Let him in,” John said. “I’ll see what he wants. You can wait out in the solarium.” 

The Priory had a room that patients and their visitors could sit in if they didn’t want to spend their entire visit cooped up in the patient’s room, but John had never had much desire to sit there when Cynthia came to visit. He had even less desire to have her send Paul away for what he felt was the most fruitless of reasons. If she wanted to fix their marriage, she needed to take him back as he was, not try to fix him. There was nothing wrong with him. 

The door slammed behind her as Cynthia stormed out of the room, and Paul stood over by the doorway, a carrier bag in his hand, and a look of fright in his eyes. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of me,” John said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m still me, even if I’m stuck in this bloody place.” 

“What’s the matter with her?” 

“Oh, Cyn? You know how she gets. She’s angry because I wanted to see you. I couldn’t care less about her when she visits.” 

“I’m sorry that I haven’t come by,” Paul said after a moment. “I don’t really have an excuse. I know that you’ve called and I haven’t come to the phone. I’m sorry, I just--”   
  


“I shouldn’t have propositioned you in Rishikesh,” he admitted. “I knew that it was stupid to believe what George and the Maharishi were telling me, but Yoko said that she thought that the mediation would make you see what we could have had together, especially with Brian gone.” 

“What?” 

“I really am sorry,” John said. “I just wanted to give it a go.” 

Paul worried his lower lip. “You know that I can’t feel the way that you feel, right, John? You know that I love you in a different way than I loved Jane, or than I love Linda?” John watched him run a hand through his hair. “You understand that, right?” 

He forced himself to nod. John understood, sure, but he really hadn’t been much bothered to care. 

“What’s in the bag?” 

“Heather,” Paul said. “She’s not in the bag,” he added. “She thought that you might appreciate some things to decorate your room with, so you wouldn’t feel like you were in a hospital and would be less scared.” He shrugged. “I told her that I would bring them to you.”

“Did you tell her that I didn’t deserve them?” 

He shook his head. “I thought about it. But, she’s a kid. I didn’t want her to think you were horrible.” He placed the bag on the table. “Linda and I, we’re getting married,” he added. “I’ve asked her to marry me, and she said yes. I wanted to let you know from me, instead of from someone else, or from the papers.” 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All we did was finish the album,” Paul told him. “We’ve decided to take a break, and do our own things for a while. No one’s going to leave you.” 
> 
> “Me mum--”
> 
> “You know, me mum died too,” he pointed out. “You’re not the only one with some horrible background that makes you king, or anything. Everyone’s got shit. You, me, Linda, Heather, your wife. You don’t get to be the one who gets to claim that you’re acting like this because of a dead parent all the bloody time.” 

A silence filled the room after Paul’s announcement, and he eyed John warily. Paul had learnt over the course of his friendship with John that silence -- especially in response to emotionally heady conversational topics -- was something that was best avoided, and he wasn’t sure what John’s reaction would be, especially since the expression on the other man’s face was one that he could best describe as incredulous amusement.

Coincidentally, said expression did little to amuse Paul.

“Why do you have that smirk on your face?” He asked John, his eyes narrowed. “I haven’t said anything funny.” 

“Oh, that’s a good one, Macca,” he said after a moment, a chuckle escaping. “You almost had me there. Getting married?” 

“I’m not having you on,” he said, in a rather clipped tone. “We’ve decided to marry, and I decided that you should know.” 

“That’s what you want to do with yourself?” John asked. “Marry the tweedy American broad who’s already saddled herself with a kid?” 

Paul drew in a deep breath. “She’s not some tweedy American broad,” he said, and he attempted to maintain a steady tone. “She’s going to be my wife, and I am not ‘saddled’ with Heather. She’s our daughter, and this isn’t something that’s up for debate. If you think that I’m going to listen to you daring to lecture me about my relationships, after what your lovely choice in a replacement for Cynthia did to my daughter, to my privacy fence, and to Sir Lockwood--”

“What are you talking about?” 

“What do you mean?” He demanded. “Surely you’ve heard about the fact that Sir Lockwood became intimately acquainted with both the pavement and the bonnet of  _ your _ Rolls Royce? I understand that you’ve been locked up in here, but did no one bother to mention that little incident to you?”

John rolled his eyes. “Oi, you know I didn’t mean him,” he said, and he pushed himself to a standing position. “What the bloody hell did Yoko do to your…” He trailed off, and Paul watched him squeeze his hands into fists. “Your daughter,” he finished. “Heather.” 

“What do you care?” 

“What do you mean by that?” 

Paul scoffed. “Oh, come on, John, why do you care what Yoko did to Heather? You don’t actually care about her, given by the fact that you make all sorts of mocking comments about the fact that she’s scared.” He shook his head. “You don’t think that it might be hard on Heather to come here and live with me? Leave behind everything she’s ever known because her mum fell in love with a bloke from Liverpool? She’s bloody terrified of everything. We had to pull her out of school because the others were fucking horrid to her, and then you make a mockery out of our parenting when I’m introducing my daughter to your aunt. It’s not a joke, John. The things that Linda and I do, you might find them funny, but they’re to protect her. To help her feel safe.” 

He lit up a cigarette before continuing his train of thought. “I didn’t appreciate Yoko coming to my house and threatening to break down me privacy gate when I told her that I didn’t want to see her when she and Kyoko came by,” he said, and he felt his blood boil as he recounted the incident. “She knew that Heather was there because Heather answered the intercom, and she still felt that that was an appropriate thing to say. Well, of course she did. She was strung out on heroin.”

John opened his mouth, and he held up his hand to stop him. “You wanted to know, so I’m telling you,” he said. “Yoko terrorised both my child and her own when she ranted and raved at me because I lied to her and told her that I didn’t know where you were, and it really scared Hettie. Maybe she didn’t mean to, I don’t know, but she did, and I’m entitled to be angry with her, and to be mad at you for getting involved with her after she stalked you for years!”

“I figured that she was as good as anyone,” he said after a moment. “Especially after you and Cyn made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me.” 

“I told you, John, that we were still friends,” Paul said, and he tried his best to be patient. “Just because that wasn’t what you wanted me to say to you, doesn’t mean that I didn’t mean it.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re going to leave me. Everyone’s going to leave.” 

He took a step forward. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told him. “What do you mean?” 

“Oh, come off it, you know what I meant,” John groused. “George is glad to be rid of me, and I reckon the same is true of you and Ringo. The lot of you will go on without me, and I’ll be running electric like Pete back home.” 

“All we did was finish the album,” Paul told him. “We’ve decided to take a break, and do our own things for a while. No one’s going to leave you.” 

“Me mum--”

“You know, me mum died too,” he pointed out. “You’re not the only one with some horrible background that makes you king, or anything. Everyone’s got shit. You, me, Linda, Heather, your wife. You don’t get to be the one who gets to claim that you’re acting like this because of a dead parent all the bloody time.” 

“That’s not the same--”

“Why the bloody hell isn’t it? You think that my mum dying of cancer is less traumatic than your mum being hit in the carriageway by a bloody copper?” Paul demanded, and he flicked the end of his cigarette into an ashtray before taking another drag. “Is that so? Linda’s mum was in an aeroplane crash. She never even got to see her. You don’t see her dragging it up whenever there’s the least bit of conflict, do you?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry that your mum died, but stop blaming everything you do on her. She’s  _ dead _ John. She’s not here to defend herself, and she’s not the reason that people do things that you don’t necessarily agree with!”

Part of Paul felt guilty for what he’d said, but the greater part of him was just annoyed.

“You have been  _ horrible _ to Linda, and to my daughter, and if you still want me to be your friend, you need to just  _ try _ to be a little nicer to them. I don’t expect you and Linda to become best mates, but you’ve been  _ nothing _ but horrible to her since you’ve met her, and I don’t get why? Because I picked her? She makes me happy, John. She’s going to be my wife, and we’re getting married because we’re in love, and not because we don’t know how to use a rubber, or the pill, and you know what? We’ve decided that we’re going to expand our family. Heather, yeah, she’s great. She really wants to be a big sister. I think she’s going to be a brilliant one.”

John let out a sigh. “Are they here?” 

“What?” 

“Linda and Heather,” he said. “Are they here?” 

“I know who you meant,” he told him. “Why does that matter to you, if they’re here or not?” 

“You said that--they matter to you,” he said. “They’re your family. Aren’t they?” 

Paul nodded. “Of course, they’re my family, but what are you getting at?” 

“She made me those?” John asked, and he gestured to the carrier bag. He nodded. “Would she like to show them to me?” 

Paul licked his lips. “Are you going to be nice to her and Linda?” 

John nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said. “They’ve come along.” 

Paul was rather loath to admit that Linda and Heather were waiting outside for him, but what could he really say? He couldn’t in good conscience tell John that they weren’t there, not because he cared about telling John the truth, but rather because he didn’t want to break Heather’s heart and lie to her about John not wanting to see her. If John wanted to see her -- and he promised that he’d behave himself -- well, so be it. He’d let him. For Heather’s sake.

“What? Did you leave ‘em in the corridor?” 

“No,” Paul told him. “They’re in the solarium.” 

John let out a barking laugh. “Where I sent Cyn off to? The poor blighters. You reckon they’ve stayed?” 

“Why wouldn’t they have stayed?” Paul demanded. “Why would Cyn scare them off? John--”

“She thinks that you’re putting one on,” he admitted. “That this is an elaborate laugh.” 

“That  _ what’s _ an elaborate laugh?” 

“You know. This thing you’ve got going on.” 

* * *

  
  
  


“Are you sure that you want to go in alone?” Linda asked Paul, for what felt like the millionth time, and she tried to hide her wince at the strength that he’d gripped her hand with, though he was admirably minding the road as he drove. Heather sat on the seat between them, having successfully convinced Paul that she was more than capable of sitting in the front and staying still. “Heather and I, we can go with you,” she reminded him. “Can’t we, sweetheart?” 

Heather nodded. “I don’t mind going with you, Da.” 

Paul shook his head. “I don’t want the two of you seeing John until I’m certain of what we’re dealing with,” he told her, though he loosened the hold he’d had on her. “I won’t have you getting hurt. Either of you.” 

“You think that John is going to hurt us?” Linda did her best to hide her shock. “Why do you think that?” 

“I don’t know what he’s going to do,” he said after a moment. “I just...I can’t risk it. I can’t risk either of you, not because I’m nervous.” 

“You’re nervous, Daddy?” 

Paul nodded, his jaw set. “Yeah,” he said, and Linda heard him draw in a deep breath. “I’m nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Uncle John, and I’m not sure how he’s going to react to us visiting him, you know?” 

“I didn’t know that you could get nervous,” she admitted. 

“Of course Daddy can get nervous,” Linda told her, and she ran her fingers through her hair. “Being nervous is perfectly normal, Hettie, especially when you’re going into an unfamiliar situation. Daddy hasn’t been to see Uncle John in awhile.” 

“Right,” Paul said, releasing her hand so that he could stroke Heather’s hair. “I haven’t seen him in awhile, and I’ve never really been to the Priory, so I’m a little on edge.” 

Linda knew that Paul was really nervous about telling John that he and she were getting married, but she didn’t voice that out loud. She knew that Heather was too young to understand why he was nervous about something that she was excited for, and she knew that Paul knew that, and he didn’t want to upset her by saying anything of the sort. Heather had curled herself closer to Paul when he’d admitted to being nervous, and she noticed that he’d relaxed incrementally as a result of her doing so. She reached her arm behind him and rubbed the nape of his neck. 

“It’s going to be okay,” she promised him. “If you don’t want us to come in with you, that’s fine. We can wait in the car.”

“You don’t have to wait in the car,” he said. “I don’t mind if you come in with me, I just don’t know if I want you in John’s room with us, you know?” 

“I know.” 

“Have you been nervous before?” Heather asked. 

“Sure, I’ve been,” he told her, as they turned onto the next street. He glanced down at her for a moment, before returning his gaze to the motorway. “I was nervous when Mum wanted me to meet you.” 

“Why?” 

“Well, it was a big deal, you know, I mean, Mum wanted me to come to New York with her to meet you and become a family together, it meant a lot to me, and I didn’t want to, you know, screw it up, especially with you. You’re so important to your mum, and that made you important to me before we’d even met, before we’d talked on the phone, really.” 

She giggled. “I remember that. You asked me if I’d marry you.”

“Well, in a way, when I marry Mum, you’re a packaged deal, you know,” he pointed out. “I knew that goin’ in.”

“I’ve been very impressed,” Linda told him, her hand coming to rest on his thigh. “From the beginning, you’ve proven that you’re all in with her, with us.” 

“Yeah, that’s cos I am all in,” he said. “You’re my babies. Nothing’s ever gonna change that, you know, cos you’re stuck with me.”

“I don’t mind,” she assured him. “There are worse people to be stuck with than you, you know.” 

“Yeah, darlin’,” he whispered. “I know. I’m not complaining.” 

“Are we stuck with you for forever?” Heather asked him. “That’s a long time.” 

“Forever sounds nice, doesn’t it?” Paul asked her. She nodded. “Yeah. I like the sound of forever.” 

Linda smiled at him. 

“What?” He asked. “I agree with her. Forever.” 

“That’s why I’m smiling,” she told him. “Because you’re sweet.” 

His hand covered hers. “If I’m sweet, it’s because of the two of you,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

Linda had never been to the Priory, so she had no idea where they were going, and no idea whether or not Paul was telling the truth, but she was electing to believe that he knew where they were going, and what he was talking about. She smoothed out her skirt with her free hand, feeling a bit nervous herself. Paul had been a nervous wreck about his visit with John for the greater part of the month, and it was starting to rub off on her. 

“You think I’m sweet?” Heather asked. Paul nodded. 

“Cor, luv. I think you’re the sweetest little girl I know.” 

Heather beamed. “Are you gonna be okay?” 

“I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “I know that the two of you will be waiting for me and that will keep me spirits up. If John’s feeling up to it we might come out to see you, but, no promises, you know? I don’t want him to be too sick and scare ye.” 

“Okay,” she whispered. “And Mummy will stay with me?” 

Paul had pulled the car against the pavement in front of a stately looking building, that Linda thought looked rather like a castle, but that she suspected was in fact the asylum in which John was being held. Heather’s eyes had lit up at the sight of the building, and she bit back a groan. 

“Mum will stay with you,” he confirmed, as he shut off the car. “What’s gotten you so excited?” 

“Did we go to a castle?” She asked him, and she crawled on his lap. “Can we see the Princess?” 

“Oh, darling, this isn’t a castle,” he told her. “This is the hospital where they’re keeping Uncle John.”

“Have you met the Princess?” 

“Yeah,” he told her. “The Princess, the Queen, the whole sorry lot of ‘em.” 

“That’s brilliant.” 

He chuckled. “You’re the brilliant one. Come ‘ead. Let’s go get the two of you sorted somewhere nice to wait for me, and I’ll be ‘round when I’m done with Uncle John. Okay?” 

“I think that’s a good idea,” Linda told him, while Heather voiced her approval by wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “I reckon she wants you to carry her.” 

He leaned over and gave her a kiss, his hand going up into her hair. She deepened it, cupping his chin as she did. It was only Heather’s presence that kept her from going much further. She didn’t mind that they would have been going at it in their car, on the side of the street. What did she care? She wasn’t ashamed of her physical attraction to Paul. There was a time and a place, however. Linda didn’t care if they snogged while they were in the privacy of their own home and Heather was there, but she felt that it was somewhat improper for them to be steaming up the windows while she was sat on Paul’s lap and he was sat behind the wheel. 

So, with great reluctance, she pulled away. 

“I don’t mind carrying her in,” Paul told her, his voice husky. “As for you, Momma, you ought to kiss me like that in front of John.” He smirked. “Come on. Let’s go in.” 

Heather may have been snuggly in his arms, but Linda was the one whom Paul had tucked against him, and that was just how they all liked it. Paul got to have a hold on both of his girls, and everyone knew that they were together. 

“They said that it would be all right if the two of you waited in the solarium,” he said to her after he’d gone up to the counter and spoken to the clerk. “I’ll bring you there, okay?” 

Heather nodded. Linda shrugged her shoulders. “Wherever you think is best,” she told him. “I know that you’ll come back for us. So does Heather.” 

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

“You don’t have to hurry back,” she said. “Go. Spend time with John. Heather and I will be fine.” 

He glanced at her, and at Heather. “You okay, duck?” 

“I’m going to colour you a picture,” she said in response. “And one for Uncle Mike and one for Grandpa Jim and Grandma Angie.” 

Linda noticed that Paul bristled somewhat at the title that Heather had bestowed on his stepmother, but he said nothing, so she decided to let it slide. She knew that Paul didn’t really consider Angie to be his mother, and therefore her being considered by Heather to be her grandmother had to wear on him, but she also knew that he wasn’t going to say anything to her that would crush her spirit. 

“I think that would be nice,” he said. “We can drop them in the post tomorrow.” 

“You’ll take me with you?” 

“Yeah, take you, take mummy if you want, take you by yourself. Whatever makes you happy, Het. You think about it and you let me know, okay?” He kissed the top of her head. “Be good for Mum, okay?” 

Heather nodded in the affirmative. Paul leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. “You let me know if she isn’t?” 

“Heather? She’s always good,” Linda told him. “I will, though. If she decides to. You’re stalling.” 

“Is it that obvious?” 

She nodded. “Go, honey, it will be fine. We’ll be right here. Colouring together.” 

“You want to colour with me?” Heather asked her, once they had watched Paul leave the room. “We should colour a picture for Daddy.”

“Do you want me to colour my own? Or do you want help?”

Heather screwed her face up in concentration, and Linda settled down on the linoleum floor beside her. The solarium was rather vast, and there were a few people on the far end of it, but she still didn’t want to let Heather out of her sight. As well behaved as she was, she was an almost-six year old, not someone who was old enough to truly understand where they were, or what they were doing there. 

“You colour your own,” Heather said after a moment. “Daddy let me get one of every colouring book when we were at Harrods.” 

“That was nice of him,” she agreed. “It looks like you bought quite a selection.”

Perhaps she should have insisted that Heather limit herself to one or two colouring books when they had decided to visit John, but it had honestly slipped her mind, and she didn’t really much care. Heather had been through so much over the course of her life, and if she wanted to bring a half dozen colouring packets and a sizable collection of art supplies when they went to visit her dad’s friend in hospital, well, who was she to stop her? It seemed like a foolish thing for her to put her foot down over. 

“You should colour Da,” Heather told her, and she nudged one of the books over to her. 

“What are you talking about, colouring Da?” Linda asked, as she picked up the offered item, finally recognising that she was holding a colouring book dedicated to the Beatles, that Heather had managed to convince her father -- the Beatle -- to buy for her. “He bought this for you?” 

She nodded. “He thought it was funny,” she giggled. “Me too.” 

“Well, I’m more than willing to colour him,” she told her, and she stretched herself out so that she could colour using the floor as a table. “What are you going to colour?” 

“A doggie,” she said. “They’re my favourites. Can I wear your ring?” 

The engagement ring that Paul had placed on her finger glinted in the light. Heather had been rather enamoured with it since she’d first seen it. 

“No, not here,” she said. “Come on, sweetheart. Focus on colouring.” 

The door to the solarium opened, but Linda didn’t bother to pay it any mind. If it wasn’t Paul, she didn’t much care who came in, and Paul knew better than to pretend that he had finished his conversation with John after such a short time. If he dared to pull a stunt like that, she would march him back to John’s room and stand there until they spoke. 

She decided to focus on colouring. “What colour hair should I give him?” 

“A pretty colour,” Heather chirped. “I want Da to have pink hair.” 

“Pink it is,” she said, and she took the crayon that Heather had offered her. “I think he’ll look fetching with pink hair.” 

“You need to add in his beard,” she told her. “The pictures don’t have it.”

“So it’s really true?”    
  


Linda looked up in the direction that the question had come from, and she did her best not to have her annoyance at the interruption written all over her face. Heather was happily colouring her puppy, and she really didn’t want to get into a row with Cynthia Lennon out of pettiness and spite. 

“Is  _ what _ true?” 

“This,” she said. “That you’re marrying him? That he’s actually considering her to be his?” 

“Yes,” she told her. “We’re getting married, and Paul is going to legally adopt our daughter. Not that that matters to him, because Heather is ours, regardless of what any piece of paper says.” 

“Right,” Cynthia said. “So you’re the reason he’s decided to stop shagging every bird that crosses his field of vision?”

Heather was studiously colouring, and so Linda rose to her feet. She stood before Cynthia with her arms crossed, thoroughly unamused by the conversational topic. Her relationship with Paul was no one’s concern but their own, and they had already had the discussion about how they had planned to settle down, and be faithful to each other. She had had her time sowing her wild oats, and she knew that he had as well, and she wasn’t ashamed of either of their pasts, but at the same time it wasn’t something that she wanted to have discussed in front of their daughter. 

Or with someone whom she barely knew. 

“Why do you care?” She demanded. “You claim to be Paul’s friend, right?” 

“Of course, we’ve known each other for years,” Cynthia said, her tone scoffing. “Funny how he’s changed since he’s met you.” 

“My point is that, as Paul’s friend, what do you have against him being happy?” Linda asked. “I don’t understand what your problem is with me. I mean, it makes sense that John would have a problem with me, he’d probably have a problem with anyone that Paul valued enough to leave well enough alone with the random shags and just be the one woman he comes home to, but why does my relationship with Paul matter to you? We love each other, and we love Heather, and, yes, we’re getting married. That’s what people do when they love each other and they plan on building their family.” 

Cynthia gaped at her. Her expression resembled a fish. 

“I’m only trying to understand where you’re coming from,” Linda continued. “As Paul’s friend, you should be glad that he’s happy, that he wants to settle down. You should be thanking your lucky stars that he hasn’t gone down the same path that your husband has. I know that I am.” 

“What? You think that Paul would have done junk?” Cynthia asked. “John would complain all the time about how Paul and I were so square, how we were never fun, because we didn’t like doing tabs of acid.” She rolled her eyes. “We were drags. Paul didn’t even keep doing coke once everyone else started to. He would have never picked up a needle.” 

That hadn’t been what Paul had told her. He had confessed that he had in fact done heroin once -- that he had hated it, and didn’t see the point of doing it again -- but that he wanted her to know because it was important to him that he was honest. That they were honest with each other. She certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell Cynthia that. 

“Listen,” she said. “I’m not going to debate our relationship with you, because it’s not any of your concern. We’re happy, that’s the end of it.” 

She glanced down at Heather, who was hard at work, taking special care to colour in the lines. 

“You’re happy, right, Hettie?” 

Heather nodded. “I’m happy, Mum. I like living here with Da.” 

“What are you? Puttin’ on an accent?” 

“What does it matter to you?” Linda demanded. “Heather can talk how she wants to, and whether or not that appeals to you is a non-starter. For that matter, so can I.” 

“I was only askin’ her a question.” 

“No, you were being rude,” she said. “Look, we don’t have to be friends, and I don’t know that I want you to be my friend, and I don’t know if I want Julian being Heather’s, but given where we are and the fact that people  _ know _ who you are? Don’t you think that you’d be better off being quiet? What if someone brought this little...situation to the press? All it would take is one person bragging to someone unscrupulous out there, and--”

“Fine,” Cynthia spat. 

Linda settled herself back down on the floor beside Heather, who was still furiously colouring. “What colour should I make Daddy’s beard? You want me to do pink, like I’ve done his hair?” 

She shook her head. “No, I want his beard to be purple.” 

“I think that will look marvellous,” she told her, and she ran her fingers through her hair. “Daddy’s going to love your drawing.”

“The doggie looks like Eddie,” Heather said in response. “Will you help me write Eddie on it?” 

Linda nodded, before she remembered that Heather couldn’t see her. “Yes, I’ll help you.” 

The door behind them opened and closed. 

“John?” Cynthia demanded. Her tone could have cut ice. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“Oh, can you shut it?” Paul’s voice said in response. “What does it matter to you? He’s come to see me girls.” 

Heather scrambled to her feet, and Linda soon followed, her gaze wary. 

“You really want to see me?” Heather asked John, her eyes wide. “You’re not going to laugh at my voice?” 

* * *

  
  
  


“I’ve never laughed at your voice,” John said, or at least Paul thought he did, as he tried to tamp down the well of rage he felt at Heather’s question. “Has someone done that?” 

She nodded. Paul forced himself to draw in a deep breath, and release it, rather than immediately demand an answer. When he trusted himself to speak without traumatising his child, he beckoned her over to him, and squatted so that he was eye level with her. 

“Who said that to you, luv?” He barely recognised the gentleness of his own voice. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?” 

“No one,” she said. “It’s fine.” 

“Heath…” 

“Oi, what’s the big deal?” Cynthia demanded from where she sat on the settee. “All I did was ask why they were putting on accents.” 

“The big deal?” Paul demanded, as he rose to stand and belatedly realised just how loud his tone of voice had been. He stalked over to where Cynthia sat, well aware of the fact that Heather had followed behind him. “The big deal? You want to know what the big deal is? How dare you?”

“What are you talking about?” 

“My daughter is not the appropriate venue for your irritation, Cynthia,” he told her. “Neither of them are. Why does it matter to you how they choose to speak? If Heather and Linda want to start talkin’ like they’re from here, well, I can hardly blame them, given that your attitude is bloody pervasive around here. I might not have been able to do anything about those horrid schoolmates of Heather’s, but I’ll be bloody well damned if I let you get away with it. She’s a child. She’s barely a few months older than  _ your  _ child. How would you feel if I started slagging off Julian?”

“You wouldn’t do that.” 

“Oh? Wouldn’t I?” He ran his hand through his hair. “Maybe I ought to.” He drew in a deep breath. “Don’t ever do it again.” 

“Do what again?” 

“Whatever it was that you were bloody doing,” he told her. “I’m sure that I don’t want you to do it again.” He turned his attention to Heather. “Uncle John wanted you to show him the drawings you made for him, if you’d like?” 

John had settled himself down on the floor beside Linda, and seemed to be idly colouring one of Heather’s books. 

“Would you like that, Hettie?” 

She nodded. “You sit with us, too,” she insisted. “Please?” She added. “I meant sit with us please.” 

“Of course I’ll sit with you,” he assured her. “Why don’t you sit next to Uncle John, and I’ll sit down there beside you, and I can sit next to you and your mum?” He pointed at the spot between John and Linda, who were sitting as far apart as possible. “Look, see? They’ve kept it open for us.” 

He offered her his hand, and she clutched it tightly. “You don’t care how my voice sounds?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. 

“No, I don’t care,” he promised her. “You talk however you want, and I’ll sort anyone out who criticises you, okay? You want to talk like me? That’s fine. But it’s fine if you want to talk like a New Yorker.”

“I like talking like you.” 

“Well, that sorts that, then,” he said. “Come ead. We’ll sit with Mummy and Uncle John and we’ll look at the things you set aside for him, how does that sound?” 

Paul effortlessly scooped Heather up and into his arms, and he carried her over to where she had been sitting with Linda prior to him and John arriving. Linda offered them a smile, and he settled himself down beside her, allowing Heather to fill the space between him and John. 

“Hi Uncle John,” she offered. “Are you feeling any better?” 

John glanced briefly at him and Linda. “I’m not sure when I’m getting out of here,” he said after a moment. “But, yeah, I’m feeing a lot better than I was the last time you saw me.” 

“Good,” she said. “Did you want to keep colouring?” The colouring book was still in front of John. “You can keep it if you want,” she added. “I don’t mind.” 

“Are you sure?” John was eying him warily. 

“It’s not mine to give you,” Paul told him. “It’s Hettie’s. If she wants you to borrow it, you can.” 

“I do want you to,” she insisted. “Maybe it will make you feel better.” 

He ran his hand across the top of her head. “Aren’t you sweet? That’s a good lass.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Go on, show Uncle John what you’ve gotten for him,” he encouraged her, and he nudged the carrier bag towards her. 

“Okay,” Heather said. “Daddy said that I could draw you some pictures,” she explained, as she upended the carrier bag, allowing the contents to fall onto the floor in front of them. “I thought you could put them up in your room? He said that they might let you.” She pushed the artwork closer to John. “He said that you liked kitties, so I helped Mummy take pictures of Thisbe and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” John said after a moment. “I appreciate it, Heather, but I don’t deserve this stuff.” 

“Daddy said that you don’t feel well,” she said in response, stumbling somewhat over the words. “That you’re here in hospital so that you can get better. You  _ do _ deserve it, right, Daddy?” 

Heather glanced up at him, and Paul sensed that she was seeking his guidance, and he managed to bite his tongue. He had been unable to convince Heather that John didn’t deserve the care package she’d put together, and honestly, he was tired of doing so. Ranting and raving about how John had inconvenienced everyone and caused him untold aggravation since their trip to India would do no one any good. Not the least Heather. He didn’t want her to deal with their pettiness. She was a child.

“Yeah,” he said, the conviction in his tone surprising even him. “Of course you deserve it. If Heather thinks you deserve it, you do.” 

Heather beamed at him. He smiled back. “You okay, darling?” He reached his hand out and idly stroked her hair. “You have a good time with Mum?”

“Yeah,” she said. “The best time. We coloured together!”

“That’s brilliant. You’ll have to show me later.” 

She nodded, her attention drawn to John. “Do you like them, Uncle John?” 

“You ought to have snuck them in to see me,” John said in response. “Would you have done that?” 

Heather’s eyes widened. “I don’t think they’d like visiting here,” she said. “They don’t really like to leave the house.” 

“Are cats even allowed in here?” Linda asked. “There aren’t rules against it?” 

“Oh, it would have been all right,” John told her. “I wouldn’t want the kitties to get scared, though.” 

“You can come see them,” she offered. “When you’ve been released. We’d be okay with that, I reckon.” She glanced over at Paul. “Would that be fine with you?” 

“Cor,” he said, and he shrugged his shoulders and lit up a smoke. “John’s me mate, isn’t he? Why wouldn’t he be welcomed in my house?” 

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s your house, though. I wanted to make sure his visit suited you. Gimme a drag.” 

He held the cigarette out to her. “There, luv.” 

“Do you have a kitty?” Heather asked John. “Or do you not have any pets?” 

“I’ve got a few,” he told her. “Not here, though. They’re not allowed. Having one would be breaking the rules.” He offered her a wicked grin. “Do you think I ought to?” 

She shook her head. “No, you said the kitties would get scared. I don’t want that.” 

John met his gaze for a moment, before he looked over at Heather. “You really care about what the kitties think?” 

She nodded. “You can’t be mean to them. Mum says that we’ve got to protect them. We mustn’t scare them.” 

“Sounds like she’s got the right idea. You ought to listen to her.” 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why shouldn’t I be here? Don’t tell me that you think John should be left to his own devices. Look where that’s left him. Sat here in a sanatorium because he thought it was a good idea to run off with someone who stalked us for years, and then wind up getting himself addicted to drugs!” 
> 
> “He’s here to get better,” Dad said. “That’s why these places exist, so that people can get better.” 
> 
> “He didn’t need to come here to get better,” she told him. “He should have just come home. To me. To our family.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end of the story. I hope you've enjoyed reading it. 
> 
> Look for a second book in this series coming soon, in addition to some other works that I have planned.

“When you feel better and get to come home, you can see the kitties,” Heather informed John. “Just you, though,” she added, as she burrowed closer against her dad’s side, pleased when he wrapped his arm around her. “I don’t want the others going.”

“Who’re you talking about?” John asked her. “George and Ringo? They’ve been giving you trouble?” 

She shook her head. Heather didn’t have a problem with George, or with Ringo. They hadn’t been very nice to her dad, at least not recently, but they didn’t make fun of her or her mum for how they talked, nor had they told her that she didn’t deserve to have her dad as her father. Those honours belonged to Julian and his mum. She didn’t like either of them.

“Uncle George and Uncle Ringo can come see the kittens,” she said, in a rather subdued tone. “I don’t mind them, they don’t make fun of me.” 

“I wasn’t makin’ fun of you!” 

“I don’t think that Heather was talking to you,” Dad told Julian’s mum, in a rather harsh tone. “Why don’t you just sod off? What are you even doing here?” 

“Why shouldn’t I be here? Don’t tell me that you think John should be left to his own devices. Look where that’s left him. Sat here in a _sanatorium_ because he thought it was a good idea to run off with someone who stalked us for years, and then wind up getting himself addicted to drugs!” 

“He’s here to get better,” Dad said. “That’s why these places exist, so that people can get better.” 

“He didn’t _need_ to come here to get better,” she told him. “He should have just come home. To me. To our family.” 

“To your family? Where was that family when you thought that it would suit you to shack up with me? When you made that decision based on a single comment that I made because I wanted to make you smile, not because I wanted you and me to become some perverse ‘instant family’. John’s me brother, I wasn’t ever going to start shaggin’ you.”

Heather shifted so that she could whisper in his ear. “What does that mean?”

“What does what mean, luv?” 

“Shagging?” 

“Uh, you know, it’s what a mum and a dad do when they want to have a baby,” he told her, and she noticed the tips of his ears had coloured a bright red. “So, it’s fine for me and Mum to do, because we’re wanting to give you a little brother or a little sister, but it wasn’t fine for Cyn to want to do it with me.” 

Heather nodded. “Right,” she said. “Because she’s got to shag Uncle John.”

Uncle John started to laugh. “You think that Cyn’s been doing her wifely duties?” 

“I don’t know what--”  
  


“John!” Mum interjected. “Why would you _ask_ Heather that? She’s five years old!”

“She’s the one who brought up shagging,” he said. “I was only trying to include her in the conversation.” 

“And I’m saying that that isn’t how you’re going to do it,” Mum said. “Find some other way to include her that doesn’t include speculation on whether or not Cynthia’s been doing her wifely duties.” 

“I want to go to Wimpys,” Heather admitted. “How much longer are we staying?” 

She knew that it was a rude question to ask, but she was hungry, and the grown ups were getting loud again, and she didn’t want Daddy and Mummy to start fighting with Uncle John and Julian’s mum, even if both of them scared her a bit. Not if they were going to be loud. 

“You hungry, doll?” Dad asked her, his voice gentler than it has been when he was directing it at Cynthia. “We can go whenever you want.” 

She nodded. “I want to go.” 

Dad and Mum exchanged a glance, and Heather watched as her mum started to collect her art supplies and the colouring books, knowing what her dad had wanted without either of them having to say a word. 

Dad wrapped his arms around her and sat her on his lap. “I know you do,” he whispered. “We’ll just be a few minutes, yet.” 

“Okay,” she whispered. “Can I stay with you?” 

“Course you can,” he assured her. “Don’t you worry about that.” 

“Surely you’re not taking her there,” Julian’s mum said. “She was so rude!”

“She’s allowed to not want to be around you,” Dad said. “She’s not being rude, you’ve been rude to her. She doesn’t want you to make fun of how she speaks, is that so hard for you to do? And, yes, you were being rude. Obviously Heather and Linda aren’t from here,” he said. “That’s not a secret, Cyn. They’re New Yorkers.” Heather let him tug her closer. “We all know where they’re from. And, you know what? I don’t bloody well care. She’s allowed to speak however the hell she wants.” 

“I am?” 

“Cor,” he said, and he smiled down at her. “Don’t pay her any mind. She’s not the one who gets to decide how you speak. You know who decides that?” She quickly shook her head. “You do.” 

“Me? Really?” 

He gave her a kiss. “Yeah, you get to decide. I’m sorry, John, we’ve got to go. It’s been a long day, you know?”

“Are you going to come back?” 

Dad shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “I’ll give you a ring.” 

“A ring like Mummy’s?” Heather asked. “I don’t want you to.” 

“No, duck,” Dad said, his arms still around her. “Not a ring like Mummy’s. Don’t worry about that. I meant I’d telephone him, that’s all.” 

Heather trusted her dad. She didn’t think he’d lie to her. Not about something serious. 

“Mum’s ring is the prettiest,” she whispered. “Just like she is.” 

Mum looked over at her and Dad, a smile blooming on her lips, and Heather grinned at her. 

“You think I’m pretty?” She asked, as she set the colouring books in the bag they’d come in. 

“So pretty,” she said. “Da thinks so, too, don’t you, Da?” 

“Of course I do,” he said. “I think you’re gorgeous, Lin. Are you all sorted?” He stuck another cigarette in his mouth. Heather watched him as he lit it. “Ah, duck, you’re much too young to have one of these,” he told her. “Couple of years, yeah? When you’re thirty?”

“Is that how old you are?” 

He shook his head. “I’m twenty-six, darlin’. Somedays I feel like I’m thirty, though.” 

She wrinkled her nose. “You do? Why?” 

He shrugged. “I’m just tired. Some days I’m more tired than others.” 

“Because of your job?” 

“Yeah,” he told her, and he scooped her up into his arms as he stood. Heather let out a shriek of laughter. “Ah, you liked that, did ye?” He kissed her on the cheek. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” she told him, and she kissed him back. “You’re the best daddy in the whole world.” 

“You really think so?” 

Heather nodded, but her mum spoke before she could collect her thoughts, having come up behind them while they’d been talking. She watched as Mum ran her fingers down Dad’s arm, her attention captured by the display of affection. 

“You know that you are,” Mum told him, her voice soft. “You’re good to us.” 

“The best,” she repeated. Heather wrapped her arms around his neck, and she curled closer to him.

“You okay, sweetie?” Mum asked her. She nodded. “You knackered?” Heather didn’t want to admit that she was scared, and so she nodded slowly, while Mum reached up and stroked her hair, making clucking sounds under her breath. “I think we can head home, right Papa?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “You understand, right? John?” 

“Cyn can leave, if she’s the problem,” Uncle John offered, and Heather heard Julian’s mum make a rather offended sound in response. “What? You can’t possibly think that you’re the one who’s in the right here?”

“She’s overreacting. I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

Dad made a noise of disbelief. “We’ve had a long week,” he said after a moment. “We’ll come back, or I’ll come back, whatever you want, I promise. I just don’t think that it’s a good idea for us to stay right now, you know. Heather’s knackered, we promised her a cheeseburger.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not only to do with Cyn.” 

Uncle John let out a sigh. “You’ve always known what to do with children,” he said after a moment. “You’re probably right. I don’t want her to get scared of me again. I can’t imagine being here is much fun for a little girl.” 

“I wanted to see you,” Heather managed to say. “I asked to come. I just don’t want to see her.” 

“Well,” John said. “To tell you the truth, that makes two of us,” he told her. “I have enough issues without having to deal with her braying in me ear all day long.” 

“John!” Dad protested. Heather giggled. 

“What? Why should she have wanted to see her? Cyn was rude to her.” 

“I understand that,” Dad told him. “Why do you think we’re leaving?” 

* * *

“Well, that could have gone better,” Linda said once they’d piled back in the car, and Paul let out a rather loud groan, more than a bit annoyed by what had happened in the solarium of the Priory. “How did your visit with John go?” 

“John wasn’t the problem,” Paul told her after a moment, as he fumbled with the keys. “He was fine, for the most part. I mean, a bit cantankerous, but who wouldn’t be if they were locked away in an asylum?” He shook his head. “It went fine. I told him. He took it better than I expected.” 

Heather was snuggly settled in between them -- he hadn’t had the desire to even tokenly protest her wanting to be sat in the front between her mum and dad, and had helped her into the car himself -- and he shifted so that he could look them both in the eyes. 

“I’m sorry about what Cynthia said,” he told them. “She shouldn’t have been running her mouth.” 

“I don’t like her,” Heather said after a moment, and he met her gaze. “She’s mean, Da. Not scary like Uncle John can be,” she added hastily. “But she says mean things and I don’t think that she likes me or Mummy very much. I don’t know why. Did I do something?” 

“No,” he assured her. “You didn’t do anything. It’s just that…” He trailed off, having little desire to make any sense or excuses for Cynthia’s behaviour. “Sometimes, grown ups can be mean. They know better than to be mean, but they say things that are cruel anyways, and they know better. I’m sorry that she said those things to you, and to your mum. She shouldn’t have, and if we hadn’t been in hospital, I would have given her a what for. But I meant what I said. You and your mummy, you’re perfect to me, and I don’t care how the two of you talk.” He smoothed out her hair. “Don’t pay people like that any mind, Hettie. You’re perfect. At least, you are to me.” 

“What about Mummy?” Heather asked him. “Is she perfect too?” 

He grinned. “Oh, you know that I think Mummy’s perfect.” 

Heather matched his grin. “You ought to kiss her,” she told him. “She likes that.” 

“I like kissing your mummy,” he told her, as he turned his attention from her to Linda, a hopeful look on his face. “What do you say, Lin? Shall we indulge young Heather and give her a kiss?” 

“I don’t see why not,” Linda told him. “Is that what you’d like, Heather?” 

Heather nodded. “A big kiss,” she requested. 

“I reckon we can work that out,” he purred, and he undid his lap belt so that he could turn entirely in Linda’s direction, rationalising that it would be rather awkward to kiss her if he didn’t have a full range of motion. “I love to kiss your mummy,” he assured Heather. “I wasn’t aware you’d like to see me do it.” 

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Linda’s lips. One of his hands went into her hair while the other found hers and squeezed it tightly. Paul loved her so much. 

He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, that a chance meeting at a nightclub had been what had led him to this moment, which was rather unfortunately in front of a mental institution, but he could look past the location and focus on the fact that he and Linda were going to get married and become a family. No, he corrected himself. They were already a family, regardless of whether or not they got married. He was just happy that she wanted to get married, and make it official. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have gone from a stagnant relationship to a ready-made family in a matter of months. It was practically like a dream to him. 

Sure, he had loved Jane, and she’d loved him, at least they’d been in love at one point, but the engagement to her had been going through the motions. They’d been together for years, and it was becoming clear that they’d been expected to go to the next level, regardless of whether that was something they wanted with each other. He couldn’t fault her for having left him. They’d wanted different things. 

Jane had wanted to further her career, and Paul had wanted to settle down and become a husband and a father, and while he had thought that those were perfectly fine goals? Jane clearly hadn’t. So why make her miserable? There’d been little need to fight her on the subject. They’d had their time. It had been a good run. 

Things with Linda were different. She’d come with a ready-made family, a daughter, and had seemed surprised when hearing that hadn’t sent him running for the hills, but he hadn’t minded the thought of being in her little girl’s life. Even if Linda hadn’t said that she and Heather were a packaged deal, he would have been insistent. 

Now they were getting married. 

Marriage meant a great deal to him, and he knew that Linda had been hesitant, so the fact that she’d agreed to become his wife made him very happy indeed. Whether it was influenced by the fact that it was the last detail that was needed for him to adopt Heather or not, he was grateful that she’d given him the chance. 

“I love you,” he whispered to her, and he kissed her again. Heather giggled, her laughter loud in his ear. He pulled away from his bride-to-be and turned his attention to their little one, giving her a kiss of her own. “I love you, too, Het.” 

“Love you more,” Heather insisted. “Love you the most.” 

He grinned at her. “Oh, do you now? Do you love me the most?” 

Heather nodded, her excitement evident in her eyes, and he wrapped his arms around her. He loved her so much. Of course he loved her -- she was his daughter -- but he wanted her to know that, to know that she was loved. 

Linda had taken the opportunity to snap a photograph of them. 

“Mummy’s taking our picture,” he told Heather. “You don’t mind, do you?” 

“I like when she takes pictures of us,” she told him. “It’s okay.” 

“I like it too,” he said. “She’s a good photographer, your mum. She’s the best.” 

Linda’s cheeks had flushed a bright pink. “That’s very sweet, Paul, but you don’t have to exaggerate.” 

“I’m not exaggerating,” he said. “I think that you’re brilliant. You, and the work that you do. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. Or about anything, you know, really,” he added. “You know that, don’t you? I’m not him.”   
  


Paul didn’t make it a habit of bringing up Joseph while Heather was present, but it sometimes couldn’t be helped. 

“I know that you’re not,” she told him. “I just...I’m not used to hearing those things. And today, in there…” She gestured in the direction of the hospital. “I don’t appreciate people like Cynthia questioning my every decision, as if she thinks that I am inadequate. Like I’m a terrible mum.” 

“If Cyn knows what’s good for her, she won’t say another bloody thing to you,” he said. “You’re not inadequate, Lin. And, you know, you’re definitely not a terrible mum. You’re a brilliant mum. I see how you act with Heather and I’m just in awe of it all. You’re a real woman. A real photographer, and you’re a really good mum. Who cares what people like that think?” 

“She’s married to your best friend.” 

“Doesn’t that prove her judgment is skewed?” He ran his fingers through her hair. “You think Mummy’s a good mum, yeah?” 

Heather nodded. “You’re the best, Mummy,” she chirped, before she turned her gaze toward him. “I’m hungry,” she whispered. “Can we go to Wimpys, now?” 

“Ah, so you weren’t just asking to try to get out of the Priory?” Paul asked her, his tone joking. “Of course we can go to Wimpys,” he assured her. “Are you ready to go?” 

She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I’ll be good. I won’t get out of me seat.” 

He kissed her cheek. “That’s a good lass.” 

* * *

Ringo let out a heavy sigh, and he tried the intercom again, hoping against all hope that the lingering group of girls that had been stood in front of the gates of Paul’s house had been wrong, and that Paul and Linda were ensconced inside, simply ignoring the group of fans, which he hadn’t seen in such small numbers since Paul had moved into the place. 

“He’s not here,” one of them said. “Why do you think we are?” 

“What are you talking about?” Ringo asked. He really had nothing better to do. “Why would you even bother coming round if he wasn’t here?” 

“Because, it’s not fun anymore,” she told him. “All he cares about is that American bird and her daughter. I guess she thinks they’re exclusive.” 

A second voice joined hers. “Yes, didn’t you hear? He’s gone off and gotten himself another fiancee. This one’s got herself a kid.”

Ringo nodded. “I know about Linda and Heather,” he told them. “What’s the big deal? So what if he’s getting married? It hasn’t stopped you from following the rest of us around.” 

“He’s been so horrid lately,” another voice said. “She went crying to him because we upset the girl. We didn’t think he’d care, he’s never cared when it’s been his sister. He came out of the house, and he yelled at us.” 

“Well, that’s because she’s his daughter,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you coming round and having a go at my kids, you know. He’s in his rights.”

“We wouldn’t have a go at yours,” she said. “She’s not his. She belongs to the New Yorker. She’s ruined him. He never gives us the time of day anymore. He says that he’s happy. He never invites us in--”

“That’s because he’s getting married--”  
  


“It never stopped him before, when he was engaged to Jane!”

“Being married’s never stopped George!” 

The girls’ started to argue amongst themselves, and Ringo elected to allow them to do so, while he began to regret the fact that he’d come over to see Paul in the first place. He probably should have given him a ring before showing up, he mused inwardly, as he pondered the wiseness of returning to EMI, where he had abandoned the studio when Pattie Harrison had shown up and interrupted the mixing session, beyond irate. 

What she’d been angry about, that he wasn’t entirely certain, but he certainly hadn’t wanted to stick around. He’d had quite enough of playing the role of mediator when they had all been in the studio recording. He didn’t want to handle their marital fights as well, so he had taken his leave without even a goodbye, and headed over to Paul’s, expecting that he’d -- or someone -- would have been home. 

He could hear the sound of an approaching car, and he thought briefly of warning the girls, but decided that he would do better to see this supposedly new version of Paul in action. It wasn’t that he doubted the girls version of their story...well, okay, he thought it was possible they were overreacting. 

The car pulled into the driveway, and came to an abrupt stop. 

“What are you lot doing here?” Paul demanded, in a rather harsh tone. “I thought I’ve told you to stay away?” Ringo watched as he turned to speak to the person in the passenger’s seat. “I’ll get them sorted for you,” he heard him say, though in a rather nicer tone. “Don’t worry about it. Just stay here.” 

Paul exited the vehicle, and headed in the direction of the group of girls, who were apparently debating whether or not they had any chance of pulling George, and seemed unaware that they had been spoken to. 

“Oi! You lot!” Paul continued. “I’m talking to you. What the bloody hell are you still doing here? Have you come over to make me daughter cry again?” 

“Oh, come off it, Paul,” he heard. “We’re just having a laugh. It isn’t our fault that she’s a baby.” 

“She’s five!” He thundered. “You’re at least thrice her age, and I’m tired of having to tell you to knock it off. I asked you to be nicer to Linda and Heather, and you tell me that you will and then treat them like shit! Why? Because you think that I won’t find out? What the hell did either of them do to the lot of you?”

“I--”

“You know what? I don’t bloody want to hear it,” he snapped. “Get the hell away from our house, or I’ll ring the coppers, and if you think I won’t--I don’t mean you, Ringo,” he added, as if he sensed that Ringo had been willing to interpret his commands to include him. “You’re more than welcome to stay. I’m sure that Heather will be glad to see you. You ought to go say hello.” 

Ringo had the sense to take the out that was offered to him, though he did approach Paul’s car with a level of trepidation that he had never really experienced before. Paul was still giving the birds a rather deserved dressing down. 

“Don’t worry,” he heard Linda’s voice say, clearly directed to Heather. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s going to get them to go away and then we can go in.” 

“I don’t like them, Mummy,” Heather’s voice said. “They’re mean.” 

“I know,” she told her. “That’s why Dad’s going to sort them out. He’ll be back soon, after he does. We just have to wait.” 

Ringo decided that that was as good a cue as any, and he carefully leaned on the driver’s side door. “Why don’t you scare them?” He suggested to Heather, who had slid over behind the wheel in the absence of Paul. “I bet a good honk of the horn ought to do it. It’s certainly given me a fright a time or two.” 

“Uncle Ringo!” Heather exclaimed. “Did they scare you?” 

“The conversational topics were a bit alarming,” he told her. “Your dad is handling them. He’s giving them a right bollocking.” 

“I don’t like them,” she whispered. “They’re loud and scary and they don’t like me and Mum. I don’t know why, I didn’t do anything to them.”

“That’s why you should use the horn,” he encouraged. “I don’t think your dad will mind.” 

“Can I, Mum?” Heather asked, and she glanced over at Linda, clearly anticipating a response of some kind. “I don’t want to scare Da.” 

“I don’t think that it will scare him,” Linda told her. “Go on, if you want to.” She glanced up at him. “Hello, Ringo. What brings you here?” 

Heather leaned her entire body on the horn, and it made a rather loud sound. Ringo was rather impressed. 

“Oh, you know, I was in the area, and I reckoned I’d swing by and see what you all were up to,” he said to her. “You don’t mind, do you? I’d understand if you wanted to be alone.” 

“I don’t mind,” she said. “I suppose that it would be up to Paul, really. You’re not here to drag him over to the studio, are you?” 

He shook his head. “Oh, no, I’m not going back there,” he assured her. “I understand why you’d be worried, but don’t be. I’ve actually come from there, and I’m not in the mood to return.” 

“Is it boring without me there?” Heather asked him, her eyes wide. 

The birds had seemed to have taken the hint and were taking their leave, though Ringo could hear that Paul was still giving them a rather spirited lecture, he wondered if the noise from the horn had been what caused them to scatter. The whole thing rather amused him. Not that the scruffs were upsetting Heather and Linda, of course, that didn’t amuse him, but rather the speed in which they’d made their escape when startled. 

“Quite boring,” he told her. “We’re just putting the finishing touches on the recording now, and it’s rather dull. You being there would definitely liven it up, but we don’t need to go back there tonight. Pattie showed up, and I think that she’s helping George out.” 

Paul had returned, and he clapped a hand over his shoulder. “Sorry about that, mate,” he told him. “They’ve gone home,” he added, though that was clearly directed to Linda and Heather. “Budge up so that I can drive the car in, yeah, luv?” 

“Can Uncle Ringo stay?” Heather asked, as she settled herself back in the middle. “You won’t make him leave, will you?” 

Paul shrugged. “It’s fine with me,” he said. “You want me to drive you in, too? Or you want to follow behind?” 

“Whatever’s easier for you,” he said. “I don’t mind, really.” 

“Ah, get in,” he offered. “Heather can sit on your lap. You don’t mind, do you, Heath?”

Heather shook her head. “No, sit with me.” 

Ringo had to admit that he felt rather foolish crammed into the front seat of Paul’s car, simply to ride through his privacy gates and into his garage, but he didn’t dare voice a word of protest. If Heather wanted him to ride in with them, and Paul was okay with it, who was he to refuse? Ringo liked Heather. He liked Paul, and he liked Linda. Most importantly? Ringo valued his life. 

“Here we are,” Paul said to them, in a rather anticlimactic announcement, given that they’d driven all of -- at most -- two metres. “Home sweet home. Did you enjoy the drive, Ring?” 

“I suppose that it was enjoyable,” he told him. “What about you, Heather?” 

Heather glanced up at him. “I missed you, Uncle Ringo. I’m glad that you came by, and that you didn’t leave when you thought that we might not be home.” 

“I missed you too,” he said. “That’s why I thought that I’d come by and see how you were.” 

“You didn’t have to,” Paul told him, as he opened the door, and climbed out of the driver’s side. “Come on out, Hettie,” he said, and he reached open his arms for the little girl. “It’s fine, Uncle Ringo’s going to come in with us. I just want to carry you into the house.” 

With Heather safely secure in her father’s arms, Ringo got out of the car as well, more than a bit in awe at the fact that Paul was actually going around to the other side to open Linda’s door for her. Heather was perched on his shoulders. 

“I’ll go on ahead,” Linda told them. “You want to come with me, Het?” 

“Why?” 

“Because,” she said. “I think that Daddy might want to talk with Uncle Ringo for a moment, just the two of them. So I was thinking that we’d go in the house and make tea and get Martha and Eddie sorted with their evening meals?” 

“Will you carry me in?” 

“Sure,” she said. “I don’t mind that.” 

“I can bring her in, Lin,” Paul said. “We can just sit in the parlor. Or me study, if the two of you want to watch the telly.”

“What do you want to talk to me about?” Ringo asked. He was confused. 

“Well, we’ve just come from visiting John,” Paul told him. “Maybe Linda reckons we should talk about that?”


End file.
